


(What To Do About) Women Like Us

by SpangleBangle



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableism, Alcohol, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Asexual Relationship, Author is a Biomed Undergrad not a mathematician please be kind, Bipolar Disorder, Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Character Death, Depression, During Canon, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Female Characters, Feminist Stacker, Feminist Tendo, Feminist Themes, Genderbending, Handwavy Physics, Heartache, Internalized Misogyny, Kaiju, Kaiju guts everywhere, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Newton Doesn't Suck At Math, Polyamory, Queer Themes, Sexism, Tattoos, Work In Progress, f/f - Freeform, past bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpangleBangle/pseuds/SpangleBangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard enough being a female scientist, never mind being at the top of your male-dominated field. Never mind being queer. Never mind being differently abled. Never mind having to work with the military. Never mind trying to prevent/survive the end of the world. It just gets worse when your only lab partner is an insufferable eejit with an ego and intellect as huge as the Kaiju you're so desperately fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fic idea that sprung to mind when rewatching Pacific Rim after a disheartening week of dealing with institutionalized sexism and seeing the lack of FemNewmann works. I couldn't help but think that if Newt or Hermann were female, their eccentricities wouldn't be tolerated and they would have had to fight tooth and nail for their positions. Drawing on my own experiences as a female Biomed undergrad and the amount of casual sexism/misogyny perpetrated by the faculty and student body I've had to swallow; I have also drawn on my own experiences with anxiety and mild depressive episodes. Please note I am writing this from a position of relative privilege: I am able-bodied and do not have Bipolar Disorder or clinical depression, so all I write about these conditions are from other people's accounts and my own research. Please don't hesitate to call me out on any errors or to make corrections. Specific triggers will be noted in the relevant chapters. I hope you enjoy.

Tw: Sexism, Alcohol, Anxiety mentions.

* * *

 

**_November, 2016 - Jaeger Academy, Anchorage._ **

Nette Geizsler paced anxiously, hands forever roaming over her messy hair, fiddling with her glasses and shirt collar and cuffs - why wouldn't they just stay rolled _up_ \- and tugging down her tight white shirt, concerned it was riding up as she paced, fiddling with the waistband of her trousers and patting down her small bag to make sure everything was in there - _keys, wallet, pencil, paper, mirror, eyeliner, lipstick, folded CV, folded list of published works, folded letters of recommendation, spare laces, spare glasses, water bottle, elastic bands_ yes all there good.

Suffice to say, she was a little rattled and nervous. She forced herself to sit down on the sparse metal chairs with barely a whisper of padding placed around the small waiting room. She sat there until the jittery stomp of her Doc Martens on the floor annoyed even her and she stood up again restlessly. This interview _had_ to go well. For a moment she was overwhelmed with a sickening rush of anxiety - she should have dressed more appropriately, less like herself, should have played it boring and officeworker, who would hire her dressed as she was like a punk fallen into a thrift store, oh fuck she should have slathered foundation over her arms, hide the tattoos, who would hire her, she would never be hired here, her life's work would be wasted, no one would ever take her seriously...!

She managed to catch herself there and forced herself to notice the thoughts racing around, and identify them as anxiety-producing, quickly rate out of 100 how strong each of them were and how each of them were false and only thoughts, they would not predict anything in this meeting. By the time she had finished reasoning through them, she felt much calmer and took some measured breaths.

 _Well done_ , she forced herself to think, pulling on a tight smile. _Well done you. Good girl. You're doing good. Calm the fuck down, girl, it'll be fine. Have some water, snap a band. Still got 10 minutes 'til this meeting._

She nodded to herself, sat down again and fetched out her bottle of water and a worn elastic band. She sat, sipped and pinged the band stretched between her fingers until calm settled over her - at least, as calm as you could be while awaiting the job interview of your life.

The office door opened and a very tall, crisp-looking and _very_ intimidating man stepped through. Nette stood up quickly, trying not to gulp too audibly. She refused to cringe, feeling horribly underdressed and unprepared for this interview. _Stop that_ , she told herself firmly, raising her chin and straightening her back. _You achieved six fucking doctorates on your own genius and hard work despite the_ men _telling you to go away, shut up, go be a teacher or something. This man cannot match your intellect so show some spine!_

"Dr Geizsler," The man said politely, inclining his head after giving her a cursory, military once-over. Nette doubted he even noticed himself doing the evaluation. Whatever he might think of her tattoos, scrappy hair and generally messy appearance, there was no expression on his face but respect. "Please come in."

"Marshall," She replied tightly, nodding back and stepping into his office. She sat down in the chair before his desk, back ramrod straight with the _need_ to show this man that she more than deserved a job in his unit. He sat down and braced his arms on his desk, leaning forward intently. She immediately got the impression he was a very intense man. Sure, she had seen him on the news and read the transcripts of his meetings and speeches about the Jaegar program, but it was one thing to admire his oratory gift and another to sit a few feet away from him while his _entire attention was focussed on her_. Nette took a surreptitious deep breath to centre herself and planted her feet firmly on the ground, refusing to tuck her ankles to the side as she had been conditioned.

 _Fuck off, anxiety,_ she thought to herself. _I'm awesome, and I'm gonna get this job._

"So, Dr Geiszler, what made you apply for this position?"

The next half hour passed in a blur that she could never quite remember other than talking at high speed about the Kaiju and maybe at one point getting up to stride around the room, scribbling complicated diagrams on scraps of paper and generally being a hyped-up ball of nerves desperate to get this job with the PPDC. Somehow at the end of it, they were standing and Pentecost was shaking her hand firmly, congratulating her on getting the job.

Her cheeks hurt from grinning and she felt just on the edges of mania from the sheer relief and joy, but only the edge and she could move back from it.

"I look forward to your work, Dr Geiszler," Pentecost said, smiling just a little at the gleeful and vaguely stunned expression on her face. "I'm certain you can contribute a great deal to our research division. When can you start?"

"Tomorrow!" She replied eagerly, then caught herself. "Um. Whenever you'd like me to. Sir."

He gave another micro-smile and for a second her defenses were up, searching for even a hint of being patronised or tolerated, but she could see nothing but genuine satisfaction at having made the right decision.

"Then tomorrow at 9am, report to LOCCENT, our current head of research will show you the ropes and get you integrated into the research team here. Welcome to the PPDC, Dr Geiszler."

 

**_May, 2017 - Jaeger Academy, Anchorage_ ** _._

Nette lifted her boots up onto the table and lounged back into the cushy seat, wiggling her toes in the battered but beloved leather until it squeaked.

"To the Sydney Shatterdome!" Tendo Choi announced, raising his glass to a cheer from the technicians and research team gathered in the lounge. Nette raised her own with a yell and gulped it back, grinning at the burn of bad alcohol down her throat. After a moment, she carefully rubbed her red lipstick off the rim of the glass.

Tendo laughed, already a bit tipsy, and sat down beside her. "What a day, huh? A new Shatterdome up and running, and yours truly in line for his first promotion."

"Yep," Nette smiled, nudging him as he leant on her shoulder. "You've definitely earned it, it would be fuckin' criminal if you didn't get it."

Tendo pulled an exaggeratedly shocked face. "Whoah! You must be drunk if you're swearing on base!"

Nette rolled her eyes and shoved him a bit, frowning down at her boots for a few seconds. "I'm not drunk. But hey, I can cut loose, I'm technically off the clock."

Tendo, sensing she was on the verge of a down, ruffled her already-messy hair until she shoved him again. "It's okay Netsie, I won't tell the boss you said a _naughty word_ ," he teased.

She smiled and sipped some more of the frankly awful drink - she wasn't sure if it was beer or some sort of spirit, but it had a weird taste and the only good thing about it was the alcohol percentage. She wasn't on her alcohol-sensitive meds for once, a nice break in the regime, so she could have a bit of a drink. Not get wasted of course, but just to join in.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence sipping their drinks and watching the small party get under way, Tendo asked, "You know, why don't you swear on base? Like, whenever we're hanging out off the clock you're swearing like a soldier and goin' off on the worst, crudest tangent possible but in work you're like all _sensible_ and shit. What's up with that?"

Nette toyed with her glass, thinking. She and Tendo were good friends, having been hired at around the same time with a similar joy - and perhaps a similar need to prove themselves - in their work. That had been enough to begin their acquaintance, and they had quickly become good friends. He was fun to hang around, great for either grounding in the seriousness of something or finding the fun in a dire moment. He was her closest friend since coming to Anchorage, and she trusted him so much more than most men she'd worked with. It was hard to admit your insecurities, though.

She ran a hand through her hair and kept it there, swirling the dark tufts into spirals around her fingers. "It's kinda hard to explain. I mean, you've heard me go off on one about the rampant fucking sexism in any sort of technical field, and I don't wanna bore you with that--"

"Hey, that doesn't bore me, and you don't 'go off on one' about it." Tendo frowned. Another good thing, he was an amazingly well-informed feminist. "You're perfectly allowed to be annoyed at the disgusting treatment you face all the time for daring to be clever without a dick."

Nette leant her head on his shoulder gratefully and continued sounding out her thoughts, figuring them out at she gave them voice. "Thanks. It's just... I always feel like I'm under so much scrutiny, you know? Like people are thinking, 'wow so she's _that_ crazy lady scientist, wonder if she's really as smart as she's supposed to be' and like, people are always looking for me to slip up? Like _ha you said a stupid thing get out of here_ , you know. And part of that's anxiety, like thinking that anyone laughing when I walk past is laughing at me. But it's not all anxiety, a lot of it is from fuckin' experience and double standards and shit. I mean if I were a dude with all these tatts and bad attitude and weird hair I bet people would think I was adorable or you know, edgy or whatever, and they wouldn't dismiss my ideas just because of the way I look, 'cause I'd be a smart dude who's worth listening to. I'd still be listened to, no matter what I wore. Just that... I've lost count of the times that a male colleague has said something unprofessional, or swore, or come to work dressed like a toddler and nothing is said. The minute I say anything approaching the same level of vulgarity in work, I get reprimanded and told to wear something more appropriate. It's bullshit, man."

She sighed heavily and took a swig of her drink, organising her thoughts. "The worst thing is that I _know_ it's bullshit but I still have to work by it. I do as much as I can to say 'fuck that right up its hairy ass', you know, dressing how _I_ want in _my_ style and hair and clothes and tatts and makeup and not taking shit but it's _so hard_ to keep it up all the time because everyone is constantly judging everything you do and if you show you're upset then fuck that everyone loses all respect for you for being fucking human." She sighed and took a deep breath, heart pounding and breath coming short with anger. Tendo said nothing, letting her get it out and gently settling his arm around her shoulders. "Yet at the same time, I can't push it too much or it'll be an excuse to fire me, regardless of whether I'd even be reprimanded if I were a dude. So I have to do the bullshit dance and mince my words and make sure I don't threaten anyone's precious male ego to the point where he makes a report that'll go on my record. It's such _crap_!" She cried, fists clenched and frame tense against Tendo's side. Her eyes and throat burned with the strain of holding back angry tears.

Tendo watched her get herself under control, gently rubbing her shoulder in support.

"So _that_ 's why I don't swear on base, Tendo. In case it gets me fired when you - no offense - could go around shouting N-words and C-words and all sorts and at most you'd get an official remonstration."

"None taken," Tendo said quietly. "That's... yeah, bullshit of the highest order. I'm sorry, man. Um, dude. Uh."

Nette smiled despite herself. "It's okay, Tendo. We can have an argument about how basically all 'gender neutral' familiar terms are inherently masculine some other time."

"Cool, I look forward to it. Come on, I might not be able to overthrow institutionalised sexism right now, but I can sure get you a drink and get that fine ass onto the dance floor, whaddya say?"

"Deal!"

An hour or so later, Nette was in the middle of dancing with a really hot technician who was killer in heels, thinking she was about to get lucky with a tall busty blonde when her phone pinged on a particular note, a jarring piano chord that always made her smile. She grinned at the technician, quickly scribbled her cell and room number on a piece of paper, then tucked it into the blonde's brastrap. The woman laughed and kissed her cheek with a promising look in her eyes.

 _Oh fuck yeah_ , Nette thought in satisfaction as she picked up her phone and headed into a quieter room. _I am so getting laid tonight._

Leaning back against the wall in the quieter room, she opened her email and scrolled through the new message, grinning and giving sharp bursts of laughter at the hidden in-jokes and references scattered through. She ran a hand through her hair as she read, a warm, full feeling in her chest that was a mix of amusement and fondness. She had been communicating with a Dr Hildegard Gottlieb since the first Kaiju attack in 2013. They'd never met, partly because Nette had been based in Massachusetts and Dr Gottlieb in Berlin at first.

Although Gottlieb was a mathematician, they'd come across each other's work on the Kaiju and found a mutual, academic respect. Their emails varied from technical theories and work talk to petty little arguments over which recent films were travesties or works of art. They'd never videochatted or seen each other face to face - though Nette had done a little bit of professional stalking and found a short article on Gottlieb somewhere on the internet, and felt sure Gottlieb must have done the same - from a mutual reluctance to discuss the subject. Nette was nervous Gottlieb would see the tattoos and punk clothes and heavy black eyeliner and scarlet lipstick and give her _that look_ that was like poison, a sneering judgment she had seen far too often from people she respected that made her feel all cut up inside. She wasn't sure why Gottlieb wasn't eager to videochat, though she could guess, from the few pictures online, that perhaps the mathematician was insecure about her looks. Although the pictures hadn't been clear, it seemed that Gottlieb wasn't exactly a classically pretty woman. Nette didn't ask, though. She wasn't sure if the cybersnooping would be deemed creepy or not. Regardless, Nette was very fond of their long distance friendship and academic rivalry and felt sure they'd get along just as well in person as on-screen.

She pursed her lips and read through the email again, chuckling to herself. Gottlieb had sent her congratulations on another Shatterdome being opened and her hopes that the extra funding meant more would be coming Nette's way for her research. Although Gottlieb had joined the PPDC a year before Nette (not that it had in any way influenced her decision, well, not much), they had not yet managed to meet as Gottlieb kept moving facilities all around the Pacific, and was currently in the Hong Kong Shatterdome while Nette had stayed at the new Shatterdome in Anchorage, working in tandem with the Jaegar Academy. Nette had to admit she was a little in awe of Gottlieb's work, however little she understood of it. She knew enough to know that Gottlieb had programmed the Mark I Jaegers and was at the forefront of most of the PPDC's theoretical knowledge about the Breach and development of their technology. Sometimes, in her downswings, Nette thought that her own fanatical need to understand the Kaiju was childish and insignificant compared to the work her penpal did - even if Nette's work was at least physical and practical and not theoretical suppositions. Even if those suppositions did somehow manage to produce predictions that kept coming true. It was complicated.

Nette sighed and typed out her reply, tapping her feet to the pulsing of the music next door. Emailing with Gottlieb was one of the few things that she enjoyed doing in her free time besides sleeping, eating and faffing around with new tattoo designs. Adding attachments of a few new documents, she paused. There was a big conference planned in September in Hong Kong for the PPDC and other anti-Kaiju organisations to discuss findings and progress made since the first Kaiju attack. Gottlieb had mentioned she would be speaking there, though had obviously skirted around the subject, something about wanting the presentation to be a surprise.

 _Fuck it_ , Nette thought, and added a few lines to the postscript.

_So, that big conference in September. I got confirmation the other day that my team leader will be going to represent Anchorage research, and I should be able to sweet-talk my way into his entourage if I ask nicely enough and get him coffee for the next few months. If I could come, would you want to meet up? I'd love to see you in person. I mean I'd love to see you present your talk there, it'll make a real change from reading your work via email! But I'd also really love to just see you. Dinner, maybe? Have a think about it, anyway. Hear from you soon, and best wishes for your new model. May it kick royal ass._

She reread it a few times, gnawing on her lip and wearing off the lipstick layers. Before she could overthink it and whether she was being too forward asking to go to dinner, she hit the send button. Feeling vaguely giddy, she headed back to the dancefloor to see if that blonde technician was still interested.


	2. Chapter 2

Tw: Sexism, Depressed thoughts, Mania mentions, Anxiety attack.

* * *

 

**_September, 2017 - Hong Kong Shatterdome_ **

Nette sat in the lecture theatre with the rest of the research team, soaking in the atmosphere. She was already fired up and excited just to see Gottlieb at long last, never mind the frission of being in a hall full of the smartest academics and researchers in the entire field of K-Science. Although she wasn't presenting, she promised herself that it wouldn't be long before she was strutting up on that stage, knocking all their socks off with her theories and proofs and life's work. She had so many plans already of which talks to see, who to talk with, who to admire longingly from a distance... but right now, it was Gottlieb's slot and she would walk on in a few minutes to give her talk.

Nette patted her hair self-consciously, worried that in her insecurity she might have dialled up the 'messy punk' look a bit too hard. She pinged an elastic band absently, reassuring herself that she looked good and if Gottlieb didn't like it, well... then that was Gottlieb's problem. She wasn't going to change for anyone but herself.

She became aware of a few male scientists from other facilities subtly ogling her chest and felt anger building inside. Yes, she was wearing a tight blouse with the sleeves rolled up, and okay maybe she had the front plunging a little lower than was professionally necessary, and _maybe_ the black leather miniskirt that hugged her ass was a little racy, but they could at least pretend to be subtle. She wasn't dressed like this for _them_ , the creeps. She turned to the nearest mouthbreather, raised a sculpted eyebrow and fixed him with her best withering, pitying stare. He flushed and jerked away, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

She smirked to herself in satisfaction then sat further along her seat as the lights dimmed a little. The head of the conference walked on and gave a short speech to introduce Gottlieb to whoever had their head so far in the sand they didn't know who she was. Nette felt her heart rate pick up and skip a few times, watching the door to see Gottlieb the moment she walked through.

After a moment, someone opened the door and Dr Hildegarde Gottlieb walked through, nodding tersely to the person holding the door for her. Nette's eyes widened as she took in the actual reality of her penpal.

Hildegarde walked with a cane, which was a bit of a surprise, supporting her leg as she walked quickly up to the podium. Nette might have been imagining it, but she thought the mathematician looked embarrassed to have had someone else open the door for her and that the hundreds in the room were watching her limp to the podium. The room was loud with applause but Nette was hardly aware of it, recording every detail of her penpal. Hildegarde was dressed in _tweed_ , something that so shocked Nette felt her mouth drop open. The outfit was pretty wince-worthy. A matching tweed blazer and sensible, calf-length pencil skirt in shades of beige and green, with sensible black shoes and a neat white blouse, buttoned up to the chin. It wouldn't have been so bad if everything didn't look a size too big and baggy in all the most unflattering places and the overall effect was rather... frumpy, middle-aged spinster aunt. No makeup, no jewelry other than a plain watch, and her brown hair scraped back in a severe bun. She was taller than Nette - not that it was difficult - and built on stocky lines. A square face and heavy jaw with a hint of pudginess about her middle and legs further added to the frumpy aunt image. The near-grimace with which Hildegarde regarded the room didn't help. Although Nette knew that Hildegarde was 28, the entire outfit aged her at least ten years.

Nette felt as if her heart were flipping around in her chest, not sure what she was feeling. She hadn't known what she was expecting, really. Suddenly appalled at herself for judging her friend solely on her looks, Nette resolved to put such things out of her mind. It didn't matter what Hildegarde looked like, it was her brain that everyone was interested in. Nette felt abruptly uncomfortable knowing that the vast majority of the room were probably judging Hildegarde right now for looking as she did, and would most likely dismiss whatever she said based on her clothes.

Only a few seconds had passed since Hildegarde entered the room, and the applause died down. Nette, still reeling a bit, made sure to smile brightly whenever Hildegarde's gaze was anywhere near her.

"Good evening," Hildegarde began, adjusting the microphone on the podium. She keyed up her talk on the holo-projector, putting on some narrow, square glasses with thick black rims. She launched into her talk on her new theories about the nature and physics of the Breach, using her models and a blinding display of applied mathematics that left the room reeling. Nette was at first surprised by the crisp English accent, then remembered Hildegarde had spent her childhood there. Although the _really_ technical, theoretical maths went a bit over Nette's head (the rest of it astounding in its beauty to Nette's over-doctorated mind), she spent most of the lecture with her mouth open in awe and joy at the fierce intelligence gleaming out of Hildegarde's eyes as she explained and theorised on top of such complex and abstract subjects - of her own devising, on more than a few - that was so far above almost all of the people in the hall, Hildegarde had to be aware she could have said anything and been believed, she spoke so authoritatively. She didn't move her feet from behind the podium, but her arms and hands moved in such precise arrays Nette felt a little mesmerised by how she would punctuate each point with a slice of her hand, a point of her finger, a wave of her palm, a jab of both hands, a slight shrug of her shoulders. Hildegarde barely glanced at her projected slides except to highlight particular sections, speaking directly to the auditorium with a stern expression (as if daring someone to challenge the depths and heights of her knowledge) and a proud lift of her chin.

Nette felt a swell of pride and joy so strong she thought she might start crying. She wanted to cry out with each well-delivered point, that _this was exceptional science, why wasn't everyone in awe of this wonderful woman,_ this _is how women can be scientists, by pulling the rug out of the fucking feet of the men who said they would never make it!_ She looked around the auditorium, expecting admiration to be shining from every eye, and felt as if she'd been slapped in the face.

Hardly anyone was paying any fucking attention.

The majority of the hall were obviously not even listening or having the courtesy to look at the slides, even! She saw many on their phones or talking quietly to their neighbours - a few even laughing!

Hot rage surged up in her stomach and it took all her self control not to interrupt Hildegarde to scream at the room for being such morons. She forced her gaze back to the front and lost herself gradually in the lecture again, seeing now the angry tightness in Hildegarde's expression and tension in her shoulders even as she spoke passionately. _This must happen all the time,_ Nette thought in dismay, a cold lump settling in her throat.

"Thank you for your time and attention," Hildegard closed with a bitter twist to her lips, folding up her glasses and picking up her cane.

Nette shot to her feet, the first person to start applauding before the rest of the audience reluctantly joined in. Hildegarde looked at her, startled, and blinked a few times, mouth open a little as she took in Nette's appearance. Nette grinned, raising her hands above her head to applaud even louder. Hildegarde nodded to her after a moment, still looking startled, and limped quickly out of the room.

The conference head came back in to announce the next speaker would be due in a few minutes. Nette fought her way to the end of the seating, desperate to go talk to Hildegarde properly at last. She finally got out of the lecture hall and looked around, thinking Hildegarde couldn't have gone far. Spotting her surprisingly far away across the foyer, Nette cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Hildegarde! Hast du mich nicht erkennen?"

Hildegarde turned around at being shouted at in German. Most people would, really. She watched as Nette jogged over to her, boots clomping loudly on the stone floor and echoing like heavy slaps. "Did you not recognise me?" She grinned, catching her breath as she stumbled to a halt, arms wide. "It's me, Nette! Though I guess we've never actually met, so figures you don't know what I look like, but still, I thought it would have been obvious." Nette reined in her babbling, watching Hildegarde expectantly, heart thumping.

Hildegarde's eyebrows had shot up at hearing her name and she stood looking at Nette in surprise, mouth open and cheeks a bit flushed - though that might have been from embarrassment at being yelled at across a large room. Oops. Her eyes travelled from the tufty, gelled chaos of Nette's short dark hair to her extravagantly lined eyes and scarlet lipstick, then to her tight outfit and the Kaiju tattoos crowded on her arms and just visible creeping over the neckline of her shirt, and a couple on her legs.

After an awkward moment, Nette lowered her arms and waited, feeling anxiety claw up her throat and tighten her chest like a vise.

Hildegarde cleared her throat and extended her hand, her slightly pudgy fingers trembling a bit. Nette took her hand quickly and shook, laughing nervously. _Not a huggy person, okay!_ She thought, scrambling to make things okay and push away the snarling voices of anxiety.

"It is good to meet you, Dr Geiszler," Hildegarde said quietly after a few moments, eyes still darting over her. Nette didn't see how her eyes lingered on the swell of her cleavage, only seeing the stares at her tattoos and the muscle tension in Hildegarde's cheek that was surely barely-covered disgust _oh shit oh no oh no not you too no no no..._ "I have often wondered what you would be like outside of the written word."

"Yeah, you too!" Nette said, wincing at the overcompensated eagerness. "Um. I mean yeah, I've been looking forward to meeting you for ages."

"Quite. I didn't have time to arrange a dinner reservation unfortunately, but perhaps some coffee would be welcome?"

"Yeah sure, I could kill for some coffee!" Nette abruptly wished she could just shut up and sink into the floor _I am so embarrassing I can't take myself anywhere get your ovaries under control girl._ "Coffee would be good," She sighed.

Hildegarde's lips twitched and she jerked her chin in the direction of the hospitality area of the Shatterdome. They set off in a slightly strained silence, Nette wanting to jog to relieve some of her tension but forcing herself to go at Hildegarde's pace, careful not to accidentally kick out her cane. But every time Nette checked she wasn't walking too fast, the tension on Hildegarde's face wrenched tighter and she was practically scowling when they ordered their coffee; she sat down with a little 'oomph' as she took the weight off her bad leg.

"Are you okay? Is your leg hurting?" Nette asked falteringly, hovering by her with her hands outstretched by the cane.

"I'm fine," Hildegarde snapped, settling herself with a red flush working up her neck, shoulders cramped and tense. "I don't need any help."

Nette sat down slowly, swallowing thickly as cold, sickly waves sloshed in her stomach. The animosity in Hildegarde's voice made her head pound as she fought the reflexive tears, heart thudding painfully in her chest. "Sorry," she whispered, looking away and trying to inflate her chest properly.

_This is all tits up already. You done fucked up._

"Sorry," Hildegarde said tersely after a small while, looking annoyed with herself. "I know you meant well. Forget it."

Nette nodded and fiddled with her elastic band under the table, calming herself. "I really enjoyed your talk," She ventured timidly.

That seemed to perk her up a bit. "You did? Good, good. Though I don't suppose you understood much of it?"

Nette had the feeling of being slapped again. "Well... Not the ridiculously high-end points, no, it's not my field," She stumbled, gaping a little at Hildegarde. How could she be so rude? "B-But the rest was amazing, and I certainly know enough of the field to approximate what you were talking about."

"Thank you. I suppose the purity of applied mathematics and theoretical physics is rather far removed from... biology."

Nette was appalled at the snobbery, and even Hildegarde looked a little abashed at her comment. She didn't apologise, though. Resentment and vague horror crept up Nette's spine, digging their claws into her skin and whispering in her ear.

She swallowed and sipped her coffee, getting blood-red lipstick over the mouthpiece. She tried to wipe it off upon seeing the imperious, openly scathing expression on her friend's face. Her hands started shaking and she cleared her throat, the press of emotions in her chest needing some release.

"Does that always happen?" Nette burst out before she could censor herself, the childish need to strike back emerging. "People falling asleep in your talks?"

Hildegarde bristled, scowling. "I'll have you know--"

"'Cause it sure seems like it, the way you're acting," Nette said sharply, hands and voice trembling. "You sore because no one gives a shit about your theoretical daydreams?"

" _Excuse me, you tarted up slut?_ What the hell would you know about anything? All you can do is poke at Kaiju parts, no better than a confused veterinarian!"

Tears threatened and Nette stood up in the tense silence, holding them back by force of will. "I never thought you'd be such a bitter, shrivelled-up bitch," She said with a deadly coldness. "I'll leave you alone now."

She took her coffee and walked away, back straight and unrepentant. She refused to run away crying, giving Hildegarde plenty of time to recover her manners, call out and apologise.

She walked all the way back to her room with silence at her back and eyeliner smudging down her cheeks.

Hildegarde, in her room some time later, sat down heavily on the bed, glaring at her cane.

"Moron," She muttered spitefully to herself, shrugging off her blazer and throwing it into the corner and tugging open the first few buttons of her blouse. "Why do you have to be such a _bitch_ to everyone you meet? Hopeless, stupid, idiotic _bitch_ ," She spat at her knees. "She's your only friend! You are worse than dirt, worse than shit, worth nothing! She'll want nothing to do with you now, and you'll fucking deserve it."

She sighed and rested her face in her hands. Nette had just been so... _womanly_ and Hildegarde had been unable to handle it. All her life, attractive and edgy girls like Nette had made her feel _less than_ , unsatisfactory, pathetic, ugly, fat, disgusting, dowdy. Taking refuge in her intellect had hardly helped, simply made her a larger target. And on her own, the only girl in physics and maths lectures, she'd been ostracised and hated for being so far above the boys. She was neither pretty nor only moderately intelligent, so she didn't fit into their nerdy-boy-views of the world and women, and in their fear of her intellect, they pushed her away as well. She had leaned into it as she got older, using it as armour to protect herself from the snide looks, the laughs behind her back, the cruel nicknames and slurs tossed about. After all, she'd always thought, if they can't show basic human understanding I want nothing to do with them.

What had started as armour became a habit, then a reflex. Now, a real problem. She couldn't stop herself from being rude and obnoxious to everyone she met, even people she wanted desperately to get along with, like Nette. Especially when they were someone she wanted to know even better, whose physical appeal was so overwhelming she reacted without knowing it, so struck by fear and insecurity that she would rather push that person away than risk them hurting her. It was a problem academically, but even more so for her personal life.

Overwhelmed by the rush of loneliness, feeling that no one in the world gave a shit about her and would rather she was gone, she broke down into tears.

Nette, in her room, was pacing about. Tears streamed black and clotted with eyeliner and mascara down her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Teeth clenched, fists balled and crushed into her collarbone, she paced around the tiny room looking for some way to vent her feelings.

Her whole body shaking with rage, she videocalled Tendo. He picked up blearily after a couple of rings, hair a mess and wearing nothing but a vest and boxers. _Oh yeah,_ Nette thought vaguely, _time zones._

"What?" Tendo asked wearily, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"Sorry," Nette stammered, twitching and jerking with the force of her emotions. "I f-forgot you'd be s-sleeping. I'll hang up."

"Whoah, Netsie," Tendo said, looking at her properly. "Don't hang up. You look a mess, what's going on? Are you manic?"

"N-No, not manic," Nette managed through clenched teeth. "Mad. Hurt. Upset. Heartbroken. Mad." She folded her arms across her chest and squeezed herself, trying to contain the emotions that felt like they would rip her apart if she let them, explode out her body in bloody streams, _splat_ , jam on the walls, brain on the ceiling, gone gone gone gone empty no need to think nothing at all no Hildegarde no anger no heartbreak no thoughts nothing no knowledge nothing at all worth nothing worthless useless worthless useless worthless useless...

"...Netsie, it's okay, it's alright, come back to the moment, you're safe, you're alright..." Tendo's voice floated across her consciousness and she came to realise she was squatting on the floor, nails digging into her scalp as she tried to contain the bomb in her chest and head. Her throat was hoarse, had she been screaming? Probably, her lungs hurt as well.

She slowly uncurled and stood straight, shoulders sore and twinging. She ran her hands through her hair and looked at Tendo on the screen, who had shuffled closer to his videocam in concern.

"Sorry," She whispered, feeling oddly empty. Purged, almost. "I didn't want you to see that." She sat down limply on the bed, blinking slowly around and trying to connect to her surroundings again.

"Is... is this a good time to ask what happened? Or would that trigger another attack?" Tendo asked anxiously.

"It's okay," Nette replied woodenly. "I'm not really feeling anything right now. I met Hildegarde."

"I'm guessing it didn't go too well?" Tendo ventured, who had managed to weasel the details of Nette's long-term correspondence from her in the first fortnight of them knowing each other.

Nette shook her head, tears leaking unnoticed down her cheeks. "She's a-a snob and rude and conceited and arrogant and spiteful and mean and _she called me a 'tarted-up slut'_."

"Ouch," Tendo winced. "She seemed pretty cool by email. That fuckin' sucks, sis, it really does."

"And the worst part," Nette sobbed, her calm veneer shattering, "Was that she's so smart! She gave this ph-phenomenal lecture and it was amazing and awe-inspiring and she's _so damn clever_ I couldn't breathe, and nobody in the hall cared, and everyone was snickering because she had this fuckin' _awful_ old lady suit on so no one was listening and it was horrible and she's just _so smart_ and not gonna lie I've had a brain-crush on her for years and g-getting to see her present..." Nette waved her arms, unable to find the words.

Tendo nodded sympathetically. "You fell just a bit, right?"

Nette nodded miserably, trying to wipe away her makeup and succeeding in smearing it all over her face. "A-And I thought maybe, you know, we could go for dinner and fall totally in love with each other and all that jazz and it was gonna be great and then, and then, she was such a _bitch_ it was horrible!" She wept brokenly, too exhausted to be hysterical. Tendo made sympathetic noises until the flow had ebbed.

"Look, sis, that's awful, and I get that you're feeling all broken up inside. What you need to do now is take care of yourself. It sucks that your penpal is a douche in person, but you can't let that ruin the conference. Think of all the other great people you could meet. Now, go wash your face and get ready for bed. It'll be a bit better in the morning, and then the next morning, and after a while it won't hurt at all." Tendo said kindly.

Nette smiled weakly at him and did as he said, scrubbing her face clean and getting into her pajamas. "Thanks, Tendo. You're a miracle worker."

"That I am."

"And I totally owe you a few rounds of drinks and maybe dinner."

"You don't owe me anything for being a friend, Netsie," He smiled. "I'm not gonna protest if you want to make me dinner sometime though."

"Deal," Nette smiled, climbing into bed. "Get some sleep."

"Night-a, Nette."

"Still not funny."

"I know. Sweet dreams."

Nette smiled and closed the videolink, snuggling into her blankets and feeling a bit less terrible.

She tried her hardest to enjoy the rest of the conference and although she learned a lot of interesting things and had some great conversations with other researchers, she felt it had been tainted by the disappointment of Hildegarde in person. She saw the mathematician around in the lecture halls, but they ignored each other with an icy fortitude. When the conference was over and she was able to return to Anchorage, Tendo gave her an almost painfully-tight hug that felt wonderful, and they proceeded to get shit-faced on a recipe of Nette's own creation that involved at least one bottle of strong red wine that was nowhere near burnt off and a lot of vodka in the dessert. It was a nice welcome back.

As Tendo had predicted, with time the ache faded until it was a mere twinge of sadness whenever she scrolled back through her inbox or saw Gottlieb cited in an article. All their correspondence had stopped and while Nette regretted it for both academic and personal reasons, as time passed she managed to convince herself that it was for the better. Someone with so many sticks up their ass was bound to have some unsound scientific habits and practices, she told herself. It was better this way.


	3. Chapter 3

Tw: Mentions of Ableism, Medication

* * *

 

Things seemed to be going pretty well for the next three years as both Nette and Tendo rose in the ranks to Research Head and Senior Technician respectively. Tendo had a steady relationship going with a woman in munitions called Alison and while Nette didn't have a significant other, she wasn't pining or especially lonely. The work brought its own pleasures, and the satisfaction of being in charge of her own department never quite lost its charm, or the fact she was rapidly becoming known on the scientific stage as _The_ expert on Kaiju biology and behaviour, and more and more scientists were coming around to her school of thought that they needed to understand the Kaiju before they had any chance of defeating them.

And then Knifehead. And Gispy Danger struggling to shore with the poor Becket brother half-dead inside from the strain of going solo after he felt his brother die, fucking hell. And then suddenly everyone thinking the Jaegar program, right when it was needed more than any other time, was not a solution anymore. Political fallout everywhere - though most of that was absorbed by Pentecost - and suddenly nobody quite believing in the program anymore. Walls, ha! As if that could keep anything out for long. Nette was not happy to be right on that point. All the funding being cut, labs reallocated to government agencies, the teams broken apart and unemployed and scattered, except Nette herself.

**_February, 2020 - Anchorage Shatterdome_ **

"I'm sorry, Dr Geiszler," Pentecost sighed. "I've pulled all the strings I have left just to let you keep your current specimens. Everything is being moved to Hong Kong, and we're taking minimum personnel. We're funding this out of our own pockets now, and we don't have the budget for such a large research team. Two people is all we can afford right now."

Nette ran her hands through her hair in frustration. She couldn't help but appreciate that even though they were on Stacker and Nette terms now after four years of working in the same small space, he always gave her the respect she deserved by addressing her formally with her title when they were on duty. "Marshall, surely you can see that a research team of just two people could never work. There's no pool of expertise, no _range_ of knowledge. We'd have to be studying completely different things to be of any use."

Pentecost's lips twitched minutely and Nette immediately felt suspicious. "Who is this other person?"

"We did put some thought into this, despite appearances," He replied obliquely. "This collaboration has been on the books for some time. Your fields of study are very different on paper, yes, but we hope that the areas of overlap are where you will be most useful to the project, your combined strengths as well as your individual expertise. Out of the list of possible candidates, we then ran our Drift Compatibility analysis on all matches. On a side note, even if the Jaegar program will be scrapped, at least the Pons technology will make it into psychological therapy and other things. It's useful for predicting workplace dynamics, I'm told, so there are commercial applications too."

He gave a small, sad grimace and Nette grieved with him for a moment that such wonderful technology would be watered down in such a way. She wished he'd get to the point, though.

He seemed to catch part of her mood and nodded. "We found compatibility with one person only. I'm told you used to be quite a fan of her work."

"You're joking, right."

"Not at all, Dr Geiszler. Dr Gottlieb is flying back to Hong Kong as we speak to prepare her workspace after being stationed at Sydney the past few years. You'll see her in a few days, and you'll work together."

Nette scowled and shot to her feet, her chest hurting with old pain. Absently, she ran her fingers over the outlines of the Kaiju on her arms, much added-to in the past three years. "How on Earth could we be Drift Compatible?"

"I'm not a philosopher, Dr Geiszler, just an ex-pilot. All I can say is that you'd be surprised at what people can hide about themselves, until you're right there in their head with them. According to our tests, you'd have a strong Drift together. Hopefully this means you'll be able to work well together."

Nette scowled and was about to launch into a rapid explanation of why that was bullshit but Pentecost lightly raised his hand and she reluctantly sat back down. Pentecost gathered his thoughts for a moment then reached into his desk, pulled something out and placed it in front of her.

Nette poked at the metal disk on a chain until she could read it. _Dr Nette Geiszler. Bipolar + anxiety disorder (GAD). Treatment: Lithium, Valproate, Pregbalin_ was inscribed on one side of the plate along with her emergency contact number. On the other side of the disk was the red staff of Ascelpius. She supposed she was flattered the chain was stainless steel, it mustn't have been cheap.

After a few moments of poking it around the desk with her finger, Nette spoke very quietly though she didn't look up. She didn't want to chance the expression on Pentecost's face. If it was pitying she didn't think she could handle it. "Why have you given me a medical alert bracelet, Marshall."

His voice, after a slight pause, was surprisingly gentle and utterly devoid of pity or judgment, just quiet compassion. "Your most recent Psych evaluation stated that the recent events with the Kaiju have had an adverse effect on your condition, and that your medication has been altered. Protocol states that once a change like this has occurred, a medical alert item must be worn at all times while on base." He hesitated, then leaned forward a bit. "Dr Geiszler, I am sorry that this is necessary. But I must order you to wear it while you're on the base. In case you have an episode, or a reaction to your medication - which you must also have in an officially stated place from now on. Somewhere in your office or room, with a label and instructions for its use and dosages. It is for your own safety and care, though I realise it doesn't seem like it."

Nette traced the inscribed staff with her fingertip, feeling as though her head were stuffed with cotton and all the energy draining out of her limbs. _Now this is a depression trigger_ , she thought and snorted quietly.

"I want you to know that my respect for you - both professional and personal - is unchanged by this, Dr Geiszler. It is a medical necessity, not a reflection on you."

She nodded dumbly and put on the bracelet, snug against her skin with the staff-side up, specifics hidden. Let people think she had an aggressive allergy rather than risk fighting even more stigma about her mental health. Whenever she'd been manic at work, her co-workers had written it off as stress behaviour and her depressive episodes as 'allocated leave'. The anxiety had remained mostly hidden as she could recognise the signs for an attack relatively early on and was able to remove herself to somewhere private before it fully hit. She couldn't help feeling that the bracelet screamed _something wrong something wrong something wrong_ and that sooner or later someone was gonna find a way to see what was on the other side and then good-fucking-bye to the crumbs of respect she'd managed to accrue.

 _Nope, nope, not following that line of thought, not following that rabbit._ She thought fiercely, scrubbing her hands through her hair hard enough to hurt. She forced herself to sit upright again and meet Pentecost's eye. He nodded slightly, looking pleased and no less respectful.

"Right. Well if you'll excuse me, I need to oversee the transport of my samples and work to Hong Kong."

Pentecost nodded, they stood, and Nette left.

 

**_February 2020 - Hong Kong Shatterdome_ **

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Shut up, Tendo.”

“You really are.”

“I _know_ , why do you always have to say it over and over again?”

“I think you need reminding every so often.”

“Yeah but right now I’m _so_ onto something so don’t you dare stop me, killjoy. And you’d better wear it.”

Tendo rolled his eyes but the fond smile stayed on his face as he watched Nette hunch protectively over the collection of threads tangled in her fingers. He exchanged a look with Pentecost on the other side of the private plane, whose lips twitched with amusement before he turned back to his quiet conversation with Mako.

“I don’t see why you feel the need, Mako.”

“It is my hair, sir,” She replied with a small smile. “I want to do it.” She fingered her hair thoughtfully. “I am seventeen now, and I would like to choose my own hairstyle, please.”

“Nette, have you been corrupting Mako again?” Pentecost sighed.

“Nope, not this time,” Nette answered without looking up. “But she’s been wanting to dye her hair for years, just FYI. Totally not my influence. And she hasn’t got any tattoos or anything.”

Mako nodded just a bit too quickly. Pentecost sighed again and gently touched Mako’s hair with a thoughtful expression. “It _is_ your decision Mako. What colour were you thinking?”

“Electric blue, baby pink or violet.”

Pentecost tried not to wince and Nette grinned, quickly tying the threads off and tugging to make it secure. “Tendo, hold out your hand.”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“You wear leather bracelets all the time!”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re big and chunky and a nice weight and look good.”

Nette fixed him with a thoroughly unimpressed look. He sighed and held out his hand. “Fine, I’ll wear the pink thing.”

“You will cherish this friendship bracelet or so help me I will boot you into the next dimension.”

Tendo glanced down at her huge, scuffed black army-style boots that had seen more than their fair share of service and many, _many_ neon lace replacements. Without another word he tied it around his wrist, by his rosary, and tightened it securely.

Nette grinned in smug satisfaction and set to work on making another one for herself, glad of the distraction so she wouldn’t have to look out of the plane window. It wasn’t that she was afraid of flying, per se. More that she didn’t want a reminder of her own mortality, being stuck hundreds of feet in the air in a metal can with only the force of burning dinosaur bones to keep them up. She was good with her current level of awareness of the fragility of human existence, thanks. And she totally didn’t grab for Tendo’s hand when they hit a bit of turbulence on their descent. Nope.

They piled out of the jet quickly onto the Hong Kong Shatterdome runway and looked around. Nette took deep breaths partly to dispel some lingering flight tension and partly to remind herself that she was in the present moment, not three years ago stepping out to attend the conference where she’d have her heart broken to bits by Hildegarde Gottlieb. Nope, three years on and about to start working for the foreseeable future with said heartbreaker.

A man came jogging up to them as their luggage was hauled off the plane and wheeled away somewhere into the Shatterdome. As the man introduced himself as the Facility Overseer they all walked through the hangar doors for the full tour.

“Oh, Dr Guy-sler?” The man interrupted himself suddenly, looking at Tendo.

Nette bit back a sigh and stepped forward. “That’s me.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” The man said with an awkward laugh. “Anyway, the Knifehead samples came in yesterday and are waiting in your lab.”

“ _What?_ ” Nette exclaimed, grabbing the man’s arm. “The samples came in yesterday? They were supposed to be transported tomorrow! They need to be kept frozen and soaked in ammonia!”

“Oh, oh no—“

“Where’s the lab?” Nette cried, panic surging up bitterly in her throat at the thought of the precious samples thawing and oozing and denaturing and degrading and becoming _useless and wasted and oh fuck…_

The man pointed, stammered out directions and Nette was off, pounding along the metal corridors and yelling “Move it! Scientific emergency!” when people didn’t get the message. After a few minutes the clanging of her boots on the metallic floor cleared a path ahead of her. She fidgeted in the lift, panting shallowly and trying not to pummel the down button _just go faster faster faster you bastard move it_ and finally the doors opened and she was off again, following the ‘K-SCIENCE’ signs sprayed on the walls until she came to a large metal door.

“Open the door!” She yelled, pounding on the metal and trying to force it open with her shoulder despite the numerical keypad blinking innocently from the doorframe. “Open the goddamn door!”

She nearly fell inside when it budged, tripping over her feet and stumbling into the lab without a glance at who had opened the door, sprinting into the room to a bench stacked high with boxes bearing ‘ORGANIC TISSUE’ labels and already leaking blue onto the desk.

With a yell of frustration she yanked on some vinyl gloves from her pocket, threw on a labcoat hanging on a hook and started hauling the boxes, swearing under her breath, to the liquid nitrogen freezer on the other side of the room, not stopping until the last one was safely inside. She stared at the digital readout, pressed up against the freezer with her nose mere millimeters from the casing, watching the numbers tick down and down until the little green light came back on, saying the freezer was back to its programmed temperature.

She let out a slow breath, closed her eyes and leant her forehead on the freezer casing for a few minutes, waiting until her heart and breathing rates were approaching normal before standing up properly. It was then she looked around the room properly, surveying her workspace.

It was clearly divided into two sections along its long axis, with a large desk in the centre to divide it. Half of this desk, the far side from Nette, was covered in papers, books, spare packets of chalk, and a few computers. The objects were neatly but not obsessively organised, in stacks. That side of the room was dominated by several large, wheeled, reversible blackboards – that would explain the chalk – absolutely covered in the most gorgeously intricate equations, theorems and plain old lists of numbers linked with lines in a sharp, decisive hand. A small stepladder was tucked nearly out of sight behind the foremost blackboard. Bookshelves took up the rest of that side’s space, crammed and stuffed with journal papers, ring-binders, textbooks and folders of what Nette presumed to be mystery paperwork and/or hidden snacks. The walls were plain concrete that had obviously been whitewashed at some point, but were slowly going greyer and less appealing with a few damp stains in the corners. Several large lamps hung from the metal girded ceiling, illuminating everything in a harsh white light Nette could already tell would give her countless headaches.

Oh, and Hildegarde was there standing by the door, hand still hovering over the number pad and wearing a confused and vaguely angry expression.

“Hey,” Nette croaked, trying to play it all nonchalant and cool but miserably failing. _Well shit._

“Good morning,” Hildegarde replied stiffly after a moment. Her lips were pursed and she clenched her cane tightly as if she wanted to use it as a club. She looked like she badly wanted to argue about something but had lost the train of her thought. “You have Blue on your labcoat and gloves.”

“Oh, right.” Nette quickly yanked them off, used them to wipe the Blue on the desk and chucked them into the HAZMAT bin, which sealed itself with a hiss. She coughed to check the colour of her breath – hooray, not blue – and perched on the edge of one of the empty tables on her side of the room.

They blinked at each other for a moment before Hildegarde shook her head with an angry motion and went back to her blackboards, cane in one hand and chalk in the other hovering thoughtfully over a particular cluster of symbols and equations. Nette frowned and chewed her lip, taken aback. She’d spent the days since finding out they’d be working together marshalling – heh – her arguments, preparing witty comebacks, snappy retorts and all sorts, getting all geared up for a proper confrontation.

 _Excuse me, where’s my argument Miss Priss?_ She thought irritably, glaring at the god-awful _tweed_ -lady steadfastly ignoring her. She cleared her throat and folded her arms.

“Yes?” Hildegarde said crisply, not taking her bespectacled eyes off her blackboard.

“You never apologised for what you said to me.” Not the best start to an argument but hey, if it worked, right?

“What?”

“September 2017, three years ago. We met oh I dunno, maybe 60 meters above here, maybe 50 meters to the left?” Nette said with a slight edge.

“I remember. My exclamatory remark was not in response to not knowing the context of your accusation, it was an expression of disbelief. If I recall correctly, which I do, _you_ called me a ‘shriveled-up bitch’, then walked away.” Hildegarde replied in a cold, emotionless voice. She might as well have been describing the weather and it pissed Nette _right_ off.

“And _you_ called me a ‘tarted up slut’! I’d say I was provoked, and you know it.”

“Your sense of fashion is a provocation all on its own, Dr Geiszler. I dare say a mirror would have done the same, if we lived in some plane of existence where mirrors would give useful advice.” Came the cool reply, though Nette noticed she held the chalk with more rigidity and there was a tension in her shoulders.

“Really.” Nette said flatly, hands starting to shake from years of compressed hurt. “You’re giving me fashion advice when your wardrobe seems to have fallen off a Macy’s rejects pile about thirty years ago. But that’s not the point! And turn around and look at me!”

Hildegard set down her chalk and turned, jaw clenched and head tilted high proudly. Nette felt her own shoulders straightening in response. “I don’t care what you think,” Hildegarde spat with a cold venom, face twisted with loathing, a sneer tucked into the corner of her mouth like it belonged there. “About my wardrobe, choice of words, or whatever petty cud you wish to chew over from three years ago. Frankly, I don’t even care what you do in this room as long as you stay quiet and keep to your side.” She jabbed her cane at the empty side of the room. “Marshall Pentecost knows very well my objections to this arrangement, and it is only the purity and importance of the work that stopped me resigning in protest. Now, _if you don’t mind_ , I have work to do.”

With that, she turned around with an almost military precision, took up her chalk, and started scrawling on one of the few empty spaces on the board with an enraged vigour.

Nette gaped at her back for a moment, then muttered as spitefully as she could, “ _Bitch_.”

Hildegarde spun around, chalk flung to the side to snap against the concrete floor, her face flushed an ugly beetroot purple and within seconds they were screaming at each other, words almost indistinguishable in the flow of enraged eloquence that streamed from them both, interrupting each other halfway through sentences and nothing as important as the volume and intensity of each point. After a few minutes Nette realised she was crying and renewed her verbal attack with greater ferocity, her embarrassment fuelling her rage and the old, burning pain under her collarbone she associated with Hildegarde. They yelled in each other’s faces, waved arms, jabbed canes against the ground, made threatening faces, stamped feet and shouted themselves hoarse in the urgency to convey to the other just how much they were hurting and how greatly they loathed each other. German and English intermingled in malicious swathes, one language insufficient to express with appropriate hardness and force just how repugnant the other was. Nette felt all the emotions from three years ago come bubbling to the surface as ammunition, carefully stored away and categorised but never, ever reduced in potency. She lost track of just what they were arguing about after a while, topics moving almost as fast as they could draw breath. As her voice was starting to scratch and squeak, she realised they were no longer arguing over who had failed to email who back or who had insulted whom worse three years ago, but over academic minutiae and the nature of the Breach – _how the fuck did that happen?_ Never one to back away from a good shouting match, Nette drew second wind and held forth on her opinions and expertise, defending her arguments almost as passionately as she had her hurt feelings, using the strength of her old hurts to power her voice. Hildegarde gave just as good as she got, somehow cramming unholy volumes of words into the snatches of breath she could summon, blending sneering disdain with adamant certainty with just the lilt of her voice and twitch of her eyebrows. Her face was flushed and eyes bright behind her slightly-askew glasses, a few strands of hair falling out of her tightly-scraped bun. Nette faltered for a second, struck by how different Hildegarde looked when animated like this. Sensing weakness, Hildegarde gave a fierce smile that was half-grimace and half-glee and raised her voice even louder. Nette shouted right back, falling quickly into the rhythm of the argument, counter-arguments and derisive comments springing to her lips easily as they bellowed back and forth, ebb and flow of reason and emotion blending together seamlessly and weaving the air around them electric with the rapid back-and-forth, their voices echoing off the concrete and metal walls.

Abruptly, Hildegarde stepped away – at some point they’d gone almost nose to nose, all the better for deafening you with – and over to her blackboard, ignoring Nette’s outraged shouts about her abandoning a perfectly logical argument and how unsportsmanlike that was and how very rude how dare she!

“Shut up!” Hildegarde snapped, voice shaking back down to a normal level. She quickly flipped over her blackboard to the blank side and started feverishly scrawling new theorems and equations, muttering under her breath and hauling the stepladder over with her cane to reach the top sections. Nette fought the brief, overwhelmingly strong compulsion to grab the duster and erase everything on the other boards. Instead, she grabbed a cushion of paper towels and screamed as hard and loud as she could into it until her chest ached and all the emotion was bled out completely.

“Better?” A calm, deep voice asked from the doorway. Nette looked up blearily, glasses knocked askew from the paper towels. She adjusted them and hastily stood up straighter.

“Marshall, um—“

“Save it,” Pentecost said, looking rather amused. “I’ll look into having this room soundproofed.” With an approving glance at Hildegarde’s rapidly filling board, he left the doorway. His commands for people to stop loitering, the show was over, echoed back into the room and Nette flushed, appalled at her lack of control. She felt oddly empty, almost cleansed. Although the old hurt and resentment was still there somewhere, it felt much less strong and close under her skin and merely looking at Hildegarde didn’t bring it all rushing back.

Breathing heavily, she perched again on the desk and watched Hildegarde for a few minutes, the scratch and slide of chalk and her hand as she erased certain bits filled the room, chasing away the echoes of their screaming. Reading over the board, Nette’s eyebrows rose. Somehow, while they were arguing, Hildegarde had worked out the kink from her previous board, and a new model of the Breach dynamics from an atomic to macro-scale was being worked through as she watched. Distantly, she felt the old throb of admiration and stepped on it quickly.

 _Oh shit, the samples_ , her brain supplied dimly. _Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to shove them in the liquid nitrogen freezer without ammonia._

 _Thanks brain,_ she thought. _Could have done with that like, forty minutes ago._

Sighing, she pulled on another labcoat and got one of the tables ready for some squelchy embalming. They worked in relative silence for the rest of the day, avoiding looking at each other as much as possible and each a little embarrassed by the wholly unprofessional lack of control they had startled out of each other. The silence was a balm to their bruised egos and Nette found, surprisingly, that she could think more clearly about how to rescue her samples; at least after a few ibuprofen to chase away the pounding headache, the ratios seemed to make more sense for each type of tissue.

The mess bell, when it rang much later, startled them both so much out of their trance-like disregard of each other that Hildegarde’s cane rattled to the floor and Nette jerked so badly she nearly spilled a fresh flask of ammonia. Hildegarde hissed in pain as she bent to retrieve her cane, making Nette turn around in surprise.

“Are you—“ Nette bit off the rest, as it was obvious Hildegarde was _not_ okay. Sure enough, the mathematician shot her a scathing look as she straightened, leaning heavily on her cane in a white-knuckled death grip.

“Standing too long,” Hildegarde forced out sourly after a pause. There was a curious look on her face, as if she were daring Nette to mock her weakness and a vulnerability that washed over her expression in odd, painful waves. It was a very familiar feeling to Nette, though it was disorientating to see it on another person rather than feeling it herself. She felt it on her face every time she had to come out to a stranger or explain to someone she respected that Bipolar Disorder didn’t mean she was ‘crazy’ or about to ‘snap’ and start murdering people. She swallowed and looked away to gather her thoughts.

“Yeah,” She said awkwardly. “That was the mess bell, right? Dinner? Damn, six pm.”

Hildegarde nodded stiffly and made her way to the door, obviously in a lot of pain. Nette kept quiet and walked with her, aware of the brittle strength and rock-hard determination in every painful step of Hildegarde’s like an itch at the back of her neck. She wanted to offer her arm, the good manners in which her uncle had raised her irrepressible even with the fact they had shouted at each other for the best part of an hour earlier. She refrained from doing so; just glancing at Hildegarde while they walked was inviting a murderous scowl that was honestly rather intimidating. It was obvious Hildegarde did _not_ want any help and would struggle on proudly, even though she must have been in agony.

They reached the mess hall a good half hour after the bell had rung and Hildegarde headed straight for the benches, seating herself with difficulty but managing it on her own. She pressed her hand into her hip and breathed slowly in and out, ignoring Nette hovering. After a moment, Nette caught Mako’s eye, who had been lingering over dinner with the Striker Eureka boy, Chuck? Nette thought his name might be Chuck, but she wasn’t sure. She knew he was Herc’s son, anyway, and the two of them visiting briefly, on a break from Sydney. Mako came over, spotting Hildegarde and frowning with concern.

“Can you help me with an extra tray?” Nette said quietly, her voice hoarse. Mako nodded quickly and in a few minutes they were bringing the trays over to Hildegarde. Mako slid one in front of the tired scientist and smiled encouragingly, sitting next to her. Hildegarde looked like she wanted to be angry, but the expression melted away at the sweet affection on Mako’s face. Nette settled a seat or two away from Hildegarde, giving her some space as they ate, Mako quite happy to initiate and carry on the conversation.

The day ended in a tired, vaguely-aggrieved truce with them both picking at their food, gulping pints of milk to restore their voices, and Nette wondering what sort of fucked-up ‘compatibility’ had shown in their results.


	4. Chapter 4

Tw: Mentions of Depression + Bullying, Internalised Misogyny (though this is a constant theme of the fic, just so you know), Mentions of Medication. 

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**_February 2020 - Hong Kong Shatterdome_ **

Hildegarde regarded the screen in front of her pensively, fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm that might have passed for tuneful if one’s ears had been permanently damaged or their appreciation for music were mired in garbage. She was alone in the lab, enjoying the quiet hum of the freezers and contented whirr of the modems, the slow tick of the fans moving the air about in the vain hope of convincing the humans within the steel-and-concrete box that they were not underground, and that there was indeed fresh airflow. In her other hand she rolled a piece of chalk, sleeve rolled up slightly to preserve it from the pale dust. She liked the feel of it on her fingers, the resistance and dry tackiness, the slight cringe and creep of her flesh when the dust was compressed, the goose-bumps when her nails scraped the side, little deposits pushed under her nails to be washed out later. One might suppose it gave her a feeling of control and familiarity, hearkening back to her days of pure academia when she would spend hours sketching the artistry of creation on blackboards, straining to even touch part of the majesty she could but observe and try to rationalise, trying to convey the passion and joy that numbers had always given her to her lack-lustre students, aside from those few who shared her view. Ahh, to teach them had been a true joy. While those suppositions were all very true, there was something reassuringly visceral about the sensation of the weight of the chalk in her hand, the coolness on her skin and pressure under her nails, the subtle coating of powder to mark her as present, real, an impossible being made more of space than substance when the facts boiled down, yet still with enough mass and improbable complexity and connection despite the sheer amount of space between even the smallest parts of her atoms comprised more of force than matter to support the dust slowly being worked into the minute grooves of her fingertips, the creases in her palm and the petty oils transferred to her hands from the rest of her skin and environment.

Perhaps it was rather a lengthy conclusion for enjoying the feel of the chalk, but Hildegarde was nothing if not thorough in her thought processes, and as she was stuck in her own thoughts and mentality, why not enquire as to its reasons and associations? If nothing else, it provided a distraction from the harshness of ‘real life’; in her thoughts, she was as safe as anywhere, with no one’s judgment or feelings to acknowledge and face down but her own, in the well-worn furrows of comforting reason into which she could sink like a memory-foam mattress after a hard day, warmth and focus and security in which to shelter. Even her neuroses and inner demons were old friends, vaguely reassuring in their presence (if not comforting in their actuality, when they fully hit) as if proving that her mind, even with its flaws, was awake and as active as ever, running at full capacity. Even the unease she felt at the thought that her insecurities served a secondary comforting purpose was a relief, a check and a balance against slipping into nonsensical and damaging thought patterns and dependency she was all too aware of being susceptible to, in her lower moments.

Roll, switch, tap went the chalk in her fingers, being spun slowly in her grip. Roll, flick, squeeze. Grit and dust entrenched, a check that the real world was still there. Pulling her back into the present and out of her thoughts. Juddering _slide_ and slip of skin on chalk powder, shudders and chills. Real, present, feeling.

She sat up a little straighter in her chair, focusing again on the screen and mentally scanning back through the avenues of contemplation she had passed through all unawares to recall what she had been doing. Ah yes, being horribly sentimental and reading through old emails. Truly, a good use of her time.

A small smile flickered momentarily on her lips. Approximately three years ago, in a fit of maudlin pique that the Brontë ladies would have been proud of were their characters alive in a world where emails had superseded the postal service in almost all respects, she had gone through all the message threads between herself and Nette, and copied them all onto a document on a data drive which she promptly read, became even more emotional over, then resolved never to read again. She had stuck to her metaphorical guns and had almost forgotten that the document existed, until Nette’s graceless re-entry into her life the previous day. She had initially come early into the lab so that she could attempt to collect her thoughts on how they were to operate in a professional capacity, when the memory of this document (the emails long since buried and deleted from her account) had surfaced compellingly.

While their atrociously unprofessional shouting match yesterday had in fact garnered some unexpected windfalls in her thinking and the evolution of her model, the fact remained that it had been stunningly emotional and exhausted them both, not to mention disruptive for everyone around them and damaging to both of their personal equilibriums. She was in fact rather ashamed of how quickly she had lost her calm and temper. Before Nette had burst in, she had resolved to treat her with civil politeness if rediscovering their friendship was out of the question.

 _Well,_ she thought with a bitter twist of her lips. _Best laid plans, et cetera._

The reality of Nette in all her colour and form and mass and sheer _force_ of personality had, Hildegarde was able to admit in the privacy of her own thoughts, temporarily overwhelmed her faculties. The physical reality of her former pen pal had faded somewhat in the three year interim between their seeing each other in person, as much as it irritated her that her memories and perceptions of the woman had become, with time, entangled with other associations and images of the women and girls of her past who had so belittled and degraded her. Even now, having met Nette afresh yesterday, she was aware of the taint of these past traumas, simply because Nette bore a resemblance to them in terms of fashion and looks. She couldn’t think of her without seeing those other women, the girls from her childhood, all made up faces and trendy flattering clothes with their words like acid spewed in her face, sinking deep into her skin and trickling into her brain to rot, rot, rot.  

She shook her head firmly, taking hold of her thoughts and steering them far away from the darker, poisoned parts of her memory. Roll, squeeze, slip went the chalk. Tap, tap, ratatata of her fingers on the desk. She read again through their emails, her chest feeling tight and hot and full of too many feelings she wasn’t prepared to name, save perhaps affection and regret. She remembered writing those emails, the instant uplift seeing that little _Inbox (1)_ on her screen had given her, the feelings of happiness and being cared for and that her existence and wellbeing meant something to someone else. She remembered being lost in dark spirals of the monster on her shoulder unable to even face the world outside of her bedroom, incapable of contemplating something as difficult as reheating a meal portion, never mind going to work and tangling with the multitudes of complexities posed by other people, those unsolvable riddles that demanded too much of her attention. And reading a new email from her pen pal had given her the strength on those days to get out of bed and attempt to look after herself properly. Those emails had created a little warm space somewhere in her chest, a little bubble of light in her mind, that made the feelings of worthlessness a little easier to bear, ignore, refute, fight against.

Hildegarde sighed shortly and closed the document. She didn’t want to get mired in all that right now. She couldn’t help but regret, no matter how assiduously she pushed away the feeling, that her real presence was nowhere near as pleasant as her writing would suggest. In writing, she could edit what she was saying, how she was coming across to others. She had time to think, and only the limited information given by the other person in writing to interpret. There was no urgency to reply quickly or to decipher all the possible permutations of meaning in their expression, tone and body language, to discard the predictions generated by her own mind to focus on the _real_ message. In writing, there was no judgment of a person’s appearance. No long not-stares at her cane, no wondering expression as to what had happened to her leg and why it wasn’t immediately obvious – no matter how well the other person thought they concealed it – and no disapproval of her way of dressing, of doing her hair, of electing not to wear makeup or generally being different to the computer-modelled image of _Woman_ that society demanded. She felt that in writing, she could be herself and the more affable qualities of her personality, her intellect shone through most truly. In person, she knew, she was a disappointment. She fulfilled the societal image of ‘smart ugly woman’ to a T, and it infuriated her while protecting her like armour, preventing anyone from trying to look closer. They couldn’t see her fears and insecurities while all they saw were the awful clothes, but they wouldn’t try to see any deeper, either.

Hearing the clomp of boots on the metal gangway startled her out of her thoughts and she quickly opened a small bottle in her desk and swallowed a large, white pill, putting the bottle away before Nette could enter. She adjusted in her seat, wincing as her hip jarred with the pain not yet dulled by the pill. The clomping stopped outside the door and after a moment it opened to admit the punkish cryptozoologist. They looked at each other for a moment, exchanged neutral ‘good morning’s, nodded and quickly turned away from each other. Nette strode to her side of the lab, shaking on a labcoat as she walked.

Hildegarde turned back to her computer monitor, opening files of the latest digital models of her predictions. Her plan for the day was to spend it reviewing her work so far, thinking that seeing some of her older, abandoned lines of thought might spark something new. So far, the models were not accounting for the behaviour of the Breach or what they currently knew of the Kaiju-verse. When her lines of formulae were coded into the software, the models came out skewed, improbable, impossible compared to the hard facts of what they knew. There were faults in her work, and she couldn’t at that point see where they might be. To her own mind, her predictions should have worked perfectly, should have demonstrated the truth of the Breach. She could not see how they were failing, and the pressure was mounting. She had yet to test her newest ideas generated from her argument with Nette the previous day, but she had learned early on in her academic career never to get too excited about a possible breakthrough until the hard facts had been rigorously proven, and even then to wait a little while until objectivity could return to one’s thinking. That way, any premature exclamations about having dis/proved such-and-such’s theory of something while overlooking a small error or fact that rendered the effort null were avoided, as well as much embarrassment. This method of accepting results, with more evaluation than satisfaction, had led to her colleagues accusing her of being overly cold and critical, of ‘looking only for mistakes’, failing to appreciate any small gains, et cetera.

Tap, tap, chalk on her fingers. Pulling her thoughts away from all that, Nette resettled in her chair and gritted her teeth at the stab of pain from her leg. Standing for so long yesterday and then stubbornly insisting on walking to the mess hall even though she had _known_ she was pushing herself too far had resulted in a very painful night where she had been continually woken by pains in her leg and hips. Reviewing her work also gave her an opportunity to spend the day at her desk in her ergonomic chair to rest the stressed joints and ligaments. Of course, if anyone asked, she knew she would say no such thing and insist it was purely to pursue new avenues of thought. Such defensiveness was largely unwarranted, she knew, as in reality no one would really care why she was choosing to spend her time in this way – she was the _expert_ , after all, and no one aside from someone with an inflated sense of ego would presume to know more than she did on her own work – and even if they did, and even if she had to admit it was too painful to stand for more than a few minutes right now, she would most likely only get an ‘oh, okay’ in response and a cessation of interest. Perhaps some might affect sympathy and try to smother her in ‘helpfulness’ that only made her feel ashamed, but she knew that in reality, the only person who would criticise her decision was herself. Such defensiveness was as ingrained as her disdain for other women caked in makeup, and just as faulted, _she_ _knew that_ , but it was alarmingly difficult to shift from her immediate thinking patterns. Noticing a harmful thought was one thing, permanently removing it quite another; especially after having the majority of your formative years as a person and academic ‘proving’ this thought to be ‘true’ or socially acceptable.

Hildegarde sighed. Her thoughts were being awfully intrusive and reflective today, and she had the unsettled feeling in her stomach and the heaviness in her head that meant she was heading into what she called a down-period. She didn’t like to use the proper term for the feeling, a rare choice on her part. Naming it made the problem, the monster on her shoulder, all that more difficult to combat. Or at least, she felt it did. Seeking a distraction, she looked over to Nette.

Nette was elbows-deep in a dissection of some sort of Kaiju organ. It looked vaguely glandular to Hildegarde’s eyes, but then there was a reason she was a mathematician-come-physicist rather than an anatomist. The organ was about as long as Nette’s torso and twice as thick, sluggishly oozing neutralised blood, Kaiju Blue, onto the sterile slab it rested in. By design the slab had turned-up edges so that liquids would collect rather than drip, a fact Hildegarde was suddenly grateful for as she had the abrupt mental image of Kaiju fluids oozing across the floor towards her side of the room to contaminate all her papers and lap ocean-like at her feet.

Nette was hard at work, scarlet lips pursed as she sliced carefully through the organ, muttering under her breath with a frown. Every so often she would attach a clamp to presumably hold back a layer of tissue to better access something else. She was completely focused on her work with an intensity that was almost alarming as Hildegarde continued to watch her. She wondered idly whether Nette would even look up if she said anything, or even if she threw a ball of paper at her head. Probably not, she concluded after some time. She couldn’t help but admire her focus on her task; it was always pleasing to see other people committed to their work.

As she watched Nette work, Hildegarde tried to tie together the two realities she had of this woman – the kind, funny, deliriously clever woman she had corresponded with for three of the most intellectually-stimulating years of her life, and the startling physical presence of her with her messy hair, eye-wateringly vivid tattoos, bold makeup and fashion, the energy that seemed to bubble under her skin as she worked, like a physical presence in its own right; a buzzing radio frequency just out of range of hearing. It was a difficult task; over the years of their correspondence, Hildegarde had inevitably created her own version of Nette. This version looked similar to Hildegarde, though with a better temperament. She had expected someone who better fit the ‘nerd girl’ stereotype; bad hair, inability to use makeup or understand fashion, tomboyish perhaps. Someone whose primary concern was her brain, rather than her looks like the girls Hildegarde had known who were so apparently brainless and perfectly pretty, who disdained learning for the attention of the mere _boys_ who made eyes at their bodies. There it was again, the association of Nette with those girls. Hildegarde sighed quietly, rubbing the back of her neck and slowly arguing against the association, trying to convince herself.  

While Hildegarde was trying to work this through, there was a knock at the door. Nette proved Hildegarde’s theory by not acknowledging it in the slightest, simply grabbing a larger scalpel and setting to with a determined expression. Hildegarde grimaced and levered herself out of her chair, leaning heavily on her cane and trying not to aggravate her hip. Mako smiled at her once the door was opened, bowing her head slightly. Hildegarde smiled back and mirrored the gesture.

“Mako, do come in,” She greeted the girl, limping back to her chair. Mako followed her in, looking over at Nette expectantly for a minute before realising Nette was oblivious to her presence, and pulled up a chair at Hildegarde’s desk. “What brings you all the way down here?”

“I wanted to see how my favourite aunt is doing,” Mako smiled. “Plus, I have nothing to do today.”

“So you were bored, I see, I’m only an entertainment to you,” Hildegarde replied in her sternest tone, eyebrows raised imperiously.

Mako grinned. “Of course, Hildegarde. Why else would I be here?”

Hildegarde smiled affectionately, the veneer breaking as it always did. “Well it’s been a slow day so far, so your presence is very welcome, I must say.”

“Problems with the model?” Mako asked, looking over at her blackboard. Her eyebrows rose. “But that is all new, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hildegarde admitted. “But I have yet to test it. It is most likely full of errors.”

“I don’t think so,” Mako said firmly, patting her hand. “Your work is hardly ever full of errors. You are the world expert on this, after all. How did you get all this? A moment of inspiration?”

Hildegarde kept her eyes firmly on the blackboard, refusing to look over at Nette. “You might say that. It was a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing. Quite remarkable, really. Not at all how I prefer to work.”

“Interesting,” Mako replied. She continued with a sly sideways glance. “How are you and Dr Geiszler getting along?”

Hildegarde watched her seemingly-innocent face for a few minutes then raised her eyebrows. “Your father told you, didn’t he.”

Mako grinned and shrugged. “I heard it from a few people. Maybe the unexpected stimulus is what helped with this,” She gestured to the board.

Hildegarde grunted in admission, looking involuntarily over at Nette.

“Are things okay now?” Mako asked hesitantly. She looked particularly invested in the answer, Hildegarde mused. She mentally filed that away to analyse later.

“We are not currently screaming at each other, so I suppose so, for the time being.”

Mako looked at her reproachfully. Hildegarde held her gaze for a few minutes before being forced to give in. “Alright,” She sighed, “We’ll work it out properly.”

Mako beamed.

“So what’s this I hear about you wanting to enlist in the Jaegar Academy? You’re only seventeen, Mako.”

“I’ll be eighteen by the time I enlist, Hildegarde.”

They talked for the rest of the day, idling away the time. Hildegarde felt a little guilty she was not using the time more productively, but Pentecost and Mako had been stationed at Anchorage for most of her time with the PPDC, only able to see her on visits to Hong Kong or Sydney or wherever she was working. She had missed Mako dearly in the past few years, an unexpected niece who had quickly become devoted to her. Hildegarde smiled fondly, remembering the time she had asked Mako why she bothered to hang around with her, when Mako had answered, “You are a nice, smart lady. It is always men working in these places.” Then the thirteen year old had made such a face of disgust Hildegarde had wanted to laugh all day.

In the end it seemed like it had been a good idea not to become too embroiled in delicate chains of thought and evaluation, as all throughout the day deliveries were made to Nette, everything from new samples from other labs to huge pieces of bizarre equipment that were laboriously and _loudly_ reconstructed by Nette and the delivery teams, quickly filling up her side of the room. It would have been impossible to do any real work, Hildegarde reasoned.

Looking at the equipment, Hildegarde felt just a little sheepish. Nette had announced rather proudly – after finally noticing and greeting Mako, honestly – that the majority of the machines had been invented by herself in the past few years. _You could have been part of that process,_ Hildegarde thought glumly. _Who knows what you might have been able to contribute, but you surely could have helped her in brainstorming the designs. You could have shared this part of her life, shared her joy at having her inventions patented and built and installed in all anti-Kaiju laboratories across the Pacific coastline. But you didn’t, out of your own hurt feelings and selfish pride. This is childish. It was three years ago, for heavens’ sake. It’s about time to put it behind you both, surely. You_ are _supposed to be working together now, after all. You can hardly do that if you’re both so hung up on that one argument you had three years ago to see anything clearly._

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck ruefully, gearing herself up for the apology she must make while Mako looked on with an oddly smug expression.

“Dr Geiszler.”

Nothing. She was obviously too immersed in what she was doing. Hildegarde gritted her teeth and got up, going over to Nette and tapping her on the shoulder.

“Whoah!” Nette said, jumping and spinning round. “Give me some warning before you sneak up on me, yeah?” She grinned and stripped off her stained gloves, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “What’s up?”

 _Why do you have to be so damn pretty?_ Hildegarde cleared her throat and straightened her back, chin held high. “Dr Geiszler, I would like to apologise for my words both yesterday and three years ago. It was rude and unprofessional of me, and I am sorry. I would like for us to move on from what happened three years ago, and enter a new professional partnership, as we shall be working with each other for quite some time.”

Nette looked her over, mouth twisted to one side thoughtfully. It looked as though she wanted to pick a hole in Hildegarde’s statement and start another argument, but the tension in her face faded after a few moments. Hildegarde kept a plain face, waiting for her reply and using it as a smooth mask. Her thoughts were horrifically inane and insecure, and she hoped none of them showed in her face. _I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment and pain in person. I’m sorry I’m not the person you must have thought I was. I’m sorry I feel so threatened by your looks. I miss the relationship we used to have, where the mere thought of your name would lift me up and give me hope and joy I had thought was never for me. I miss the closeness we had in our correspondence, the confidence and affection between us. Even if I imagined it on your part, I miss the falsity. It gave me such comfort. Please, Nette. Let us be friends again._ None of it would ever be permitted to pass her lips, however. Insecurity and hurt laced every syllable of those thoughts, and Hildegarde would never willingly show her vulnerability. She lifted her chin higher, jaw clenched and knuckles tight around her cane.

Eventually, Nette nodded and smiled. “Yeah, sounds good. Put it all behind us and stuff. Okay, let’s be professionals. I’m sorry too.” She extended her hand and gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “You’d better stop calling me ‘Dr Geiszler’, call me Nette.”

Hildegarde swapped the cane to her other hand and shook firmly, giving a tight smile. “Then I suppose you may call me Hildegarde. Nette.”

“Hildy, maybe?”

“Hildegarde.”

“Aw, fine. One day.” Nette laughed.

 _I hope so,_ Hildegarde thought. _I really hope so._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's wondering about the British English spellings used (colour, metre, etc) - I am English so I most comfortably use these forms. From this point I will use US English for chapters in Nette's narrative and British English for chapters in Hildegarde's narrative. I hope this doesn't get too confusing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, apologies for the long wait between chapters. I found I'm drawing more heavily on my personal experiences than I'd planned, and the first draft of this chapter was very difficult to write for a number of reasons. Combined with some unfortunate personal circumstances, I had to take a short break from writing this. Rest assured, I'm planning to update every weekend until further notice, most likely on a Sunday as I have very little time to write during the week.   
> Feel free to drop into my tumblr inbox at spanglebangle.tumblr.com to chat :)

Tw: Mania, Depression, Anxiety, Mentions of Assault. Although these are major themes in the fic, they are especially pronounced in this chapter.

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_**April 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome** _

 “—And for one thing, your lack of professionalism is horrendous! The way you talk with everyone you come across, almost begging them to disapprove of you! How is anyone to take you seriously with the way you dress, you talk, the puerile designs on your skin?” Hildegarde yelled, stomping her cane on the ground.

Nette, whose cheeks had a moment ago been almost as red as her lipstick with rage, went suddenly pale. Her teeth drew back from her teeth, eyes grew wide and her voice was raw with an agonising welter of emotions. “ _Shut! Up!”_ She screamed at the top of her lungs, tears gathering in her bloodshot eyes. “ _Shut up shut up shut up!”_

“A worthy response!” Hildegarde sneered, taken aback by the force of her reply. She waited for Nette to respond, but she simply kept glaring at Hildegarde, breathing heavily with her fists balled as if wishing the other woman would explode on the spot and was doing everything she could to facilitate the event. Hildegarde blinked, vaguely annoyed that the argument would grind to a halt there. The thought itself was silly, she knew, but it was still there like a mildly indignant cat stalking around the back of her mind.

Their arguments had a certain flow and pace, after all, and in the two weeks since working in the same room with each other, this rhythm had become another part of their work. At first they would both attempt civility and pleasantness, but inevitably one of them would say something to aggravate the other, the other would respond in kind and very quickly their ire had been built enough that they would be screaming at each other. Over the course of their argument, there was yet another rhythm buried in the harsh words and spat pronouncements; a give and take of wit and even a little enjoyment that the other was responding so cleverly to the barb. Once the argument had run its course and the victor dubiously, silently agreed upon, they would lapse into tired and sulky silence. Hildegarde often found, to her continuing annoyance, that over the course of their yelling, a solution to a problem or a new spark of an idea was kindled in her brain, and she used the silence to jot it down or work it through.

But for the past few days, this rhythm had been decidedly _off_ , Hildegarde thought. Nette was acting strange. Although, she mused, it was possible that the rhythm was being readjusted as per the day’s demands. She did not think it was a good sign, however.

She cleared her throat, adjusted her shirt and walked back to her desk, repeating her thoughts until she could get them down on paper. After a few moments, she realised the silence in the room was all wrong as well. She glanced up, expecting Nette to have gone back to her own work station but found to her surprise that the cryptozoologist was standing stock-still where Hildegarde had left her, staring furiously into space and starting to hyperventilate.

Hildegarde watched her for a few moments, confusion and curiosity calming the residual anger bubbling under her skin. Perhaps with a tinge of concern. “Dr Geiszler?” She said stiffly, annoyance still in her system. “Are you going to get back to work any time soon?”

No response. That in itself was odd – normally Nette had a snappy retort on the edge of her tongue at all times, ready to be hurled at Hildegarde to strike with more force than she probably realised.

Nette didn’t hear her, just as she couldn’t see the walls around her. Her thoughts were all that were real to her in that moment and they sure knew how to scream with voices dripping poison and burning, scalding all through her brain. _Nothing but a failure and a sham and a slut! She’ll never like you, never! What’s there to like anyway, a bit of tit in a shirt and a cake of eyeliner? There’s not point trying to be nice, she’ll always find you annoying! Aggravating! Grating! Overeager! A pain in the ass! Only time you’re worth anything is when your clothes are off or there’s a scalpel to hand! So shut the fuck up, stop trying to impress her it’ll never work, just get back to work and try and do something useful, if you even can! Your work is pointless, no one cares anything about the Kaiju other than how to kill them! Pointless worthless useless slut sham bitch crazy silly mad downer take your pills take your happy pills that’ll make it all better no one wants to see you sober take your pills take your goddamn fucking pills and be a normal human being the only time you can function is on your goddamn pills Lithium Valproate Pregbalin LithValPreg LithValPreg LithValPreg holy mantra make you as happy as can be choke ‘em down and force a smile go on force a smile on that pretty whore face go on baby I’ll make it all better beg like you mean it you whore what do you mean no did I ask you a question bitch legs wide mouth shut fucking whore ugh you’re a mess oh look your problems are shitting all over your brain again congrats the therapy failed you can’t do it on your own you’ll never be able to do it on your own just choke ‘em down take your goddamn pills you worthless piece of shit…!_

“—Geiszler? Dr Geiszler, can you hear me?” The words were almost tinny and grainy, unreal and pointless.

_Oh not that bitch again shut the fuck up get a hold of yourself take your pills and get to work you useless fuckup!_

“I’m fine!” Nette yelled. “I’m just fine!” The world seemed intangible as she turned away from Dr fucking Gottlieb’s concerned froggy face and to her desk, her mind screaming at her like a horde of banshees and blocking out all else but the vague awareness of her surroundings. She was a wobbling pair of eyes suspended in space, watching someone else’s hands grab a scalpel and clamp and start hacking at the lump of orange tissue on the table, then grab a pen and start scribbling on spare sheets of paper. Angry spiky black marker all over, hissing out theories and diagrams and curses that joined the yelling in her head, shouting out at her and competing with each other.

_Yeah that’s right try and do some work it’s the only thing you can do half-well yeah that looks right oh good yeah that’s awesome! That’s gotta be right, what a break though wow you’re on a roll today look at you go! That makes perfect sense yeah go for it do it do it prove it it’s right go girl it’s right fucking do it you’ll show them, you’ve got it you’ve got it keep going they’ll give you another doctorate for this for sure keep going nah actually that’s not right should be different what do you mean you piece of shit that’s not right go back and rework it I know I said to keep going with that but you’re a fuckup what do you expect of course you’re wrong go back to the start just ignore all that it’s fucking wrong start again start again start again oh wait maybe it wasn’t so wrong after all you stupid bitch you were right you should’ve kept it quick write down as much as you can remember why is Hildegarde trying to talk can’t she see you’re on a roll here? Fuck off lady I’m busy you just don’t understand all you know are numbers little tiny numbers trying to grasp at how the world works aww baby poor thing stuck with cold numbers and boring-ass logic how are you supposed to help figure out Kaiju hormone synthesis and transmission what the fuck would she know anyway back off no fuck off DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME--!_

“Alright!” Hildegarde yelled, stepping quickly away from Nette’s flailing arms and putting her own behind her back. Cold sweat beaded on her skin as she surveyed Nette, watching her frantically rush around the room scribbling so hard that she tore the paper, making jagged marks on the counter tops and knocking into equipment without realising it, all the while a stream of curses and half-formed words fouled the air around her, like raving nonsense. Her eyes caught on the metallic flash of a bracelet on her wrist, a medical alert bracelet. Hildegarde toyed with the idea of pinning her arm down to read it – what if she needed medical help? – but discarded it; Nette would likely throw her off and injure them both, in her current irrational state.

Hildegarde came to the conclusion that she needed help and had no idea what to do. She swallowed the initial surge of panic – it was very rare she had no idea what to do, and it honestly scared her – with difficulty and went to the com system. She wracked her brain for someone to call. Should she call the medical bay? Would they know what was happening? Should she call Marshall Pentecost? Without a doubt he would know what course to take, but she had the niggling feeling that Nette would despise her for ‘calling the boss’. Despite the aggravation and anger Hildegarde felt towards her research partner, she was genuinely concerned for her wellbeing and still wished, when she could pull her own head out of her backside long enough to admit it, that they could be friends. So who to call? Someone who Nette knew well, who would know what to do, who wasn’t too high up the chain of command, preferably.

“Tendo Choi speaking, what’s up Nette?”

“This is Dr Gottlieb,” Hildegarde replied, keeping a careful eye on Nette. “I require your assistance. Dr Geiszler is acting very strange and I am concerned for her wellbeing.”

“What’s her behaviour like?” Tendo asked, voice much more serious.

Hildegarde floundered for the right words. “I’m not sure. It appears she cannot hear me, and is writing furiously on anything she can get her hands on, but it’s all gibberish, it doesn’t make sense, and I believe she is hyperventilating. What should I do?”

“Oh shit,” Tendo muttered. “Okay stay there, I’ll be there to explain in a few minutes. Try and get her to stop writing on things, get her to stand still if you can.”

Baffled, Hildegarde ended the call and walked back over to Nette, regarding her closely. She cleared her throat. “Nette. Nette.” After seeing she was not being heard, she waited until Nette was turning her way then inserted herself into the other woman’s line of sight. “ _Nette._ Listen to me.”

Nette’s eyes flicked in Hildegarde’s direction briefly. “Nette, listen. Stop writing.” Nette clutched her marker more tightly, seemingly unaware of all the pen on her hands. “Nette, please.” Hildegarde tentatively reached out and touched Nette’s hands. She jerked in surprise and her eyes locked on Hildegarde for a few seconds. “ _Nette_ , it’s Hildegarde. Please listen to me. Come over here with me.”

Hildegarde backed up a few steps but Nette stayed where she was, eyes wide and flicking on points only she could see. “Nette, it’s alright. You’re safe. It’s me, Hildegarde. Just come over here with me. That’s it, very good.”

Nette slowly stepped after her, looking like it was taking all her concentration to do as she was told, lips forming mumbled nonsense sentences. “Good, that’s very good. Now look at me. Look at my face. Count your breaths. In, one. Out, two. In, one. There you go. Nice and slow.” It seemed to be working as they breathed together, as Nette’s breathing slowed down and she seemed to focus on Hildegarde more often.

Tendo came into the room quietly to stand beside Hildegarde. “Nice job,” He said quietly to her, sounding genuinely surprised as he surveyed Nette’s state. “Okay, I’ll take care of her from here.”

“What’s going on?”

Tendo rubbed the back of his neck and toyed with his bracelets for a few moments. “Okay, I’m not the person you should hear this from, but seeing as she’s currently zoned the fuck out, okay. Nette has bipolar disorder and an anxiety disorder. Right now what’s happening is that she’s in the middle of a manic phase which is probably suckin’ ass for her right now because her anxiety tends to kick in really bad during the mania as well. So she’s having a shitty time with her thoughts and emotions.” Tendo glanced at Hildegarde, a tension in his frame that took her a few minutes to puzzle through.

“I am not judging her,” Hildegarde said once she had it, lifting her chin and fixing him with a stern gaze. “I can’t pretend to know much about those disorders, but I assure you, I am not judging her. What does she need?”

Tendo’s eyebrows rose and he looked at her searchingly for a moment. “Okay. Well what she needs most is time for the mania to pass, and calm support. She has medication to take as well, but I have no idea whether she’s already taken it today or not. And with her like this, until she’s more responsive, she won’t really be able to answer.”

Hildegarde nodded thoughtfully, still breathing slowly with Nette and watching her. She clenched her jaw and asked after a few moments of preparing herself, “Is it like an extended panic attack?” She refused to look at Tendo as she asked, though she felt his eyes on her again. She didn’t want to chance what his expression might be.

“I’m not sure, similar maybe. You’d have to ask Nette.”

Hildegarde nodded again. “I want to help her.” She glanced at Tendo and, fearing judgment, hastened to explain herself. “I _know_ , we’ve fought almost constantly since coming here. It’s not out of any real hatred or anger. It’s different, constructive in the most part. I do care for her wellbeing. We were penpals for some years, after all.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tendo replied in a carefully neutral tone. “I’d disagree about the arguing, though. It doesn’t seem healthy to me. But anyway. I’ll take her to her room now and look after her until the mania passes. Once that’s over, she’ll very likely go into a depressive phase. She won’t be able to work for a few days until the cycling has passed, from what I’ve experienced with her.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Hildegarde said firmly, feeling unaccountably protective. And just a little hurt, she had to admit. In all the years of their correspondence, Nette had never mentioned anything like this. But then, she thought, neither had she mentioned anything to Nette about her own problems other than generalities that could easily be passed over or assumed for something else.

Tendo looked like he wanted to object, but held his tongue. “Okay,” He said instead. “I’ll look after her for now, I’ll let you know. I’ll tell Pentecost what’s going on, don’t worry about that.”

Hildegarde nodded and stepped back, watching Tendo speak gently to Nette and bring her temporarily out of her thoughts. “Hey there Netsie,” He smiled when she was focussed on his face. “You’re having a manic episode. Come with me, I’ll look after you until everything’s calm again.”

“I want to go running,” Nette mumbled, eyes starting to dart again. “Go running chasing cycling all around the base come on let’s go already.”

“No, Nette,” Tendo said, taking her hands. “We’re gonna go back to your room and scribble on paper until all the energy’s gone, okay? You can scribble out all the mess and then we’ll throw away the paper and it’ll be gone.”

She nodded slowly and Tendo led her away. Hildegarde sat down at her desk, her mind awhirl. She intended to try and work, but found herself instead researching.

Much later that day, well after work hours and definitely well past a reasonable time to go to bed, Nette became aware of her surroundings again like a swimmer gradually leaving the depths to realise their head is above water and they can breathe, breathe deep and safe. She blinked around at the room she found herself in and slowly came to the realization that it was her room, with her things around her and a very tired-looking Tendo slumped in her desk chair, trying to read a book without falling asleep. She watched him nod and frown at his book for a little while, piecing together the past few hours as she remembered them.

“What time is it?” She said – or attempted to say, her voice was hoarse and squeaky on the first attempt; it made Tendo jump and drop his book. The rustle of the pages on the floor and the shift of his trousers against the chair as he sat up straighter was a balm to her ears; it was a great relief to hear something other than her own thoughts, which had been screaming incessantly at her for the majority of the day. Now, thankfully, her head was quiet with only sluggish, muted thoughts. Although she knew this was not a good thing in itself, as it would lead to the other side of her cycle soon enough, for now it was pleasant to be able to look around herself and not worry about the minutiae of every little thing.

“Some place past midnight, I dunno,” Tendo replied, rubbing his eyes. “Way too late, anyway.”

“I was having an argument with Hildegarde,” Nette said slowly.

“I gathered. You shouldn’t work yourself up like that when you can feel the mania coming on, you know it just makes it worse.”

“I know,” Nette said quietly, looking down at her bedspread and rubbing it lightly between her fingers. She heard Tendo sigh but didn’t look up.

“Why do you two argue so much, anyway?” Tendo asked. “I thought you’d made up and promised to play nice and try and be friends? What happened to that?”

Nette chewed her lip for a few minutes, picking at her flaking nail polish in flecks of metallic green that looked like reptilian scales. She called the shade her ‘dragon talons’ in the hope it would help her feel more confident and settled when her head was spinning and teetering on the edge of a cycle. It sounded silly, she knew, but it helped sometimes. Just seeing the flash of color on her hands when she was working helped pull her out of her thoughts and let her focus on the current moment. She preferred neon blues, but some people had commented it was like she was wearing the Kaiju colors, and it was never a nice thing to be indirectly accused of being on the Kaiju’s side, especially when they had killed millions of people by now. But then it was never fun to be directly accused of that either, a Kaiju Groupie or worse just for wanting to understand rather than blindly attack and destroy and make mistakes through ignorance and really her research was already helping to identify weak spots which was all the military seemed to care about and _ahh_ there were the normal thoughts again, filling up the silence with background commentary and chatter. Wait, Tendo had said something, should probably reply to that.

“We did make up,” She replied eventually, voice quiet and rough. “And I think we’ve both agreed to move on from the past. It’s just…” She sighed and rubbed through her hair, which was sticking up weirdly with remnants of dried-out gel retaining the shape her anxious hands had pulled it into during her mania. She supposed she looked a right fright. Oh well, fuck it. Oh yeah, back to the point. “I feel like there’s so much bubbling under my skin all the time, as like part of the anxiety and bipolar, but mostly just the normal state of things with me, and I have so much crammed in my head and all the feelings that go with them that my skin can’t hold it and I’m going to fly apart.” Unconsciously she wrapped her arms around herself, compressing her rib cage and hunching over in an effort to keep herself together. “And when she says things it sparks off even more and we have such _different_ views on so many things and it makes me so mad the way she says things she has so much _bitterness_ and angerand I don’t know if she even realizes it, she probably thinks she’s sounding perfectly rational and sensible but boy there’s a lot of emotion right under the surface and it makes me so sad and angry that she won’t even admit to herself she has fuckin’ issues right under the surface too and they’re bleeding out and she doesn’t even know it and she won’t do anything about it and she’s so _wrong_ about so many things and you know me I just have to win arguments and then we’re yelling and we’re not even mad with each other ‘cause I’ve got all this going through my head wishing she’d just say ‘oh hey I’m not feeling great today because of some crap I won’t talk about please don’t talk to me I need a bit of space’ rather than snapping and griping and making comments that just make me mad and we end up fighting and I just _know_ it’s not a good outlet for either of us but it’s a pressure valve that gets blown like every few days and I don’t know I hate it I just wish she’d _say_ something and I miss us being friends and just tossing jokes back and forth and how easy it was to talk through email and I don’t know why it’s so different in person I just want it to be like it was before.” She lurched to a halt breathlessly with a pain in the roof of her mouth and back of her throat that spoke of dehydration and overexertion. Tendo just looked at her neutrally until she was calm again, fishing out a bottle of water propped between the bedframe and the wall.

“How many sentences was that?”

“Should’ve been more than fifteen I think, but you managed it in about three.” Tendo replied, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Congrats. Look, you two need to sort this out. It’s not healthy for either of you – it wouldn’t be healthy for anyone – and it’s especially not helping your mental state. Please sort it out.”

“I’m sorry, Tendo.”

“You don’t need to apologize, okay?” He came over to sit next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I worry about you, you’re my best friend.” He gently rubbed over her shoulder and she leant into his arm, finding comfort in the strong line of his body and the firm certainty he seemed to exude in his stance. He was like Pentecost in that regard, Nette thought vaguely. Though maybe that was just a ‘confident male’ thing. “Please have another talk with her, or I will and you know I won’t be nice and considerate. She might be a fantastic scientist and a genius and all that, but I won’t let anyone treat you so badly.” He gave her a squeeze and she couldn’t speak, turning her head into his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the tears gathered in her eyes. She clung to his shirt and gritted her teeth until the sob welling up in her throat forced its way out. She choked and cried in the protective circle of his arms until sheer exhaustion and dehydration forced her to slump there instead. Tendo was silent, resting his chin on the top of her head and holding her tight, palms pressed against her shoulder blades in the way he knew she found most comforting. When she was done he kissed her temple and let her go.

“Nette, look,” he said carefully. “I don’t want to leave you in this state, but I also need to get some sleep before the big test tomorrow.”

Dimly Nette recalled that the new interface system he had developed for an update to the new Mark V, Striker Eureka, and to be proposed for the other Mark Vs in planning (if the funding ever came through), would be tested tomorrow. She couldn’t remember much about it other than it was supposed to be more intuitive for the pilots and aid the strength of the neural bridge. Guiltily, she promised herself to spend more time talking to Tendo about his projects and worries, not just her own problems.

“Right, of course. Go get some sleep, I’ll be fine.”

Tendo sighed and looked at her for a few moments. “Netsie, I mean this in the best possible way, but I don’t think you should be on your own right now; you look like you’re on the way into a downswing.”

Oh, right, the other fun side of her cycle. Hip fucking hooray.

“I’ll go talk to Hildegarde, then. Smooth things over.”

He raised his eyebrows and seemed about to say something then thought better of it. “That might not be such a bad idea, you know.”

“How do you mean?” Nette had honestly been expecting him to say it was silly and not to get herself into another argument in her condition, and pulled back a bit to get a proper look at his face.

“She might be more sympathetic than I thought.”

“What?”

“Just something she said while I was explaining what was going on,” Tendo replied cagily, shrugging and avoiding her eye. “I dunno. If you think she won’t hit you with that walking stick for waking her up at – damn – nearly three in the morning, then fine. I’ll walk you over.”

“It’s a cane.”

“Very pimp. Does she have a supply of chalk hidden in it?”

Nette smiled despite herself, thinking that would actually be a great improvement to its design and whether there were any secret compartments in it, that would be cool. Actually she really hoped there were secret compartments filled with snacks and chalk and bits of paper and tiny pencils just in case that would be _awesome_ yeah she should definitely suggest that to Hildegarde.

About ten minutes later, Hildegarde was awoken by the harsh metallic _bong bong bong_ of a ‘knock’ on the door. She sat up in bed and stared at the door, vaguely lit by the small light she kept on at all times, sure she was hallucinating something, a leftover from her dream about flying a jet plane. Just as she had decided she should go back to sleep, the ‘knocking’ came again. Muttering under her breath, she levered herself out of bed, irritably untangling her feet from the ball of sheets. Grabbing her cane, she pushed to her feet with a grimace and fumbled on an old navy quilted dressing gown, tying it quickly around herself and briefly checking her appearance in the mirror – messy and with her hair all over the place – before opening the door.

She blinked into the bright light of the corridor before it resolved into an equally-scruffy Nette and Tendo. At a stab of pain from her hip, Hildegarde leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms. “What is it?” She croaked.

Nette smiled weakly – she looked so _different_ without makeup – but it was Tendo who answered. “Sorry to wake you, Dr Gottlieb. Could you keep Nette company for a while? I desperately need some sleep.”

Hildegarde didn’t reply at first, looking at Nette. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and a vest, a hoodie tucked under her arm and some neon green furred slipper-boots on her feet. She looked oddly vulnerable without her usual eye-grabbing makeup and with her hair all wonky and flat in strange places. Although Hildegarde could now plainly see she did indeed have tattoos all up her arms and coming down over her legs, without the overall effect of her clothes and makeup, they didn’t seem as alarming. Seeing her looking, Nette half-heartedly covered a few with her hands, but they were all over her skin of which there was a lot on show and, after all, she could hardly cover them all.

“You did say you’d do what you could to help,” Tendo prompted her.

She turned back to him and said with remarkable calm, “I am well aware. Get some rest, Mr Choi. Nette, come in.”

Hildegarde went into her room and began turning on lights and half-heartedly clearing some of the mess on her desk. She turned back in time to see Tendo kiss Nette’s cheek, wave and head off with an exhausted slouch to his spine. “Close the door behind you.”

Nette obliged and once Hildegarde had straightened up her bed she carefully lowered herself back down to sit with her leg cautiously stretched out. Nette perched at the other end of the bed, legs folded up under herself as she pulled on the baggy hoodie, stretching it over her knees. They looked at each other for a few moments, taking in the ruffled appearance of each other and comparing to their normal states of dress.

Nette bounced a little on the mattress, then frowned and poked it. “Wait, you’ve got _memory foam_? What the hell, I only get a ratty springbox one.”

Hildegarde allowed herself a small smile. She tapped the cane lightly. “There are some perks to having one of these. I need to extra support to be able to sleep, otherwise my leg cannot become comfortable.”

Nette nodded and put her hands in her huge hoodie pockets. “So um,” she cleared her throat, “I suppose you want to know what’s going on, yeah?”

“Mr Choi informed me earlier that you have bipolar disorder, and were experiencing a manic episode, or ‘upswing’ of the cycle, which was worsened by anxiety. Is that correct?”

Nette nodded glumly, looking down at her lap. She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn.

“And are you now experiencing a ‘downswing’, or depressive phase?”

“Heading into it, yeah.” Nette nodded again, thinking that Hildegarde was being awfully clinical about this. After a moment’s consideration she decided that she appreciated it, and that she shouldn’t have thought Hildegarde would be anything but logical and thorough in anything she did.

“Well.” Hildegarde said, watching Nette closely, “Would you like to deal or shall I?”

That made Nette look up. “What?”

Hildegarde raised a pack of cards she had produced from somewhere in her bed sheets. “Shall I deal?”

Nette frowned at her for a second, thrown off-balance by the lack of questions or drama and the plain expression on Hildegarde’s face. She had been expecting a long, difficult conversation full of _feelings_ and annoyance and misunderstanding. Playing cards had not even entered her mind.

“I find playing cards, even against myself, helps keep me busy when I am feeling upset,” Hildegarde elaborated, though there was a defensive tightness in her voice that told Nette not to ask any further.

Nette nodded, hitching a smile onto her face. “Sure, let’s play Old Maid. I used to play that all the time in school.”

Hildegarde nodded and dealt the cards. For some time they played in quiet, occasionally making a comment or noise of annoyance or triumph when someone – usually Hildegarde – won. Nette soaked up the silence and calm and felt it keep the swirling static of her downswing at bay, held off by the peaceful, methodical logic of trying to figure out where the Old Maid might be, and trying to get around Hildegarde’s surprisingly tricky mind-games. After a few hours and both their eyes were drooping with tiredness, Hildegarde spoke again.

“I won’t ask for any explanations or stories. If you want to talk about it, I will listen. Otherwise, I will keep you company.”

Nette nodded drowsily. “Thanks, Hildegarde. I, um, I really appreciate that.”

Nette had a fleeting thought wondering where Hildegarde had learned to be so sensitive to this sort of thing before her eyes closed and she fell asleep, slumped at the end of Hildegarde’s bed.


	6. Chapter 6

If you'd like to chat, feel free to drop into my[ tumblr inbox here](spanglebangle.tumblr.com) :) A bit of a choppier chapter this week, a couple of shorter scenes spaced apart more than usual. Ch7 should have a bit more flow to it.

Tw: Depression, Casual Ableism, Slurs, Mentions of Bullying. 

* * *

 

**April 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome**

For the next few days, Nette stayed with Hildegarde. They took the time off work, making their excuses though Pentecost was more than willing for them to take the time and for Nette’s cycles to end. They spent the days much the same as they had that first night; not really discussing anything important, just getting through each day playing cards or reading books. When Nette was feeling particularly low, she curled up on Hildegarde’s bed and slept holding cushions and soft toys until she could bear to think again while Hildegarde read or worked.

Nette found herself pleasantly surprised by her lab partner in that time. She had expected that within a few hours, Hildegarde’s patience would wear out and they’d be back to shouting at each other. She continued to be calm and quiet – excepting one time where Hildegarde was dressing herself and Nette made the mistake of voicing her opinion on the horribleness of the ensemble – and understanding, letting Nette be quiet without intrusion and engaging her when the depression hit particularly hard, and she needed an escape from her own head. Nette had a growing suspicion but kept it to herself, not wanting to break the fragile peace. She found with a happy ache that their conversation in this time was similar to their emails three years ago, as if in the relaxing of their formal partnership, so too did their reservations and annoyances soften. You’d think that being in an even smaller room with even more necessity to be around each other that they would quickly explode, but the closeness was companionable, and without work to cause friction, their company was surprisingly easy.

A few days after the start of this period, after Nette had exhausted herself crying from the awfulness of the thoughts in her head, she decided to voice her suspicion. Hildegarde had spent the time during the crying fit with her hand on Nette’s shoulder in silent support. No hugging and no patting of the back or stroking her hair like Tendo would have done, but just a solid presence, letting Nette know she was not alone and there was a physical world outside of her head. She fetched the box of tissues and bottle of water, handing them to Nette along with a small soft toy to hold. There was no judgment or weariness in her expression, just patience and perhaps relief that the intensity of the emotion had mostly passed.

“Hildegarde,” Nette began carefully, wiping her face dry. “Have you known other people with bipolar or anxiety or something?”

Hildegarde took her time answering, busying herself arranging her leg and cane and fiddling with her shirt. Nette gave her the time, trying to be as patient as Hildegarde had been with her though she was dying to know. She took a deep breath and replied in a quiet, level voice that spoke of how hard she was fighting to speak normally, without a quaver or wobble to be heard. “I have struggled with depression since I was an adolescent.”

Nette nodded and let the silence settle, seeing the defensive tightness in Hildegarde’s face. She knew Hildegarde hated revealing personal things about her life, potential weaknesses, and could see how tightly she gripped her cane.

“Thank you for telling me,” Nette replied in a respectful tone. She desperately wanted to ask if it was related to whatever had happened to Hildegarde’s leg but knew she shouldn’t push. “I’d wondered if someone in your family had it, seeing as you’ve been looking after me so well. Even Tendo was surprised when he looked in yesterday, said he thought we’d have killed each other by now.”

“Yes, well,” Hildegarde muttered. “I am able to empathise with you in that respect. I have no experience with mania or anxiety as you experience it, but I am very familiar with how depression can affect a person. I thought it was the least I could do to help you through this phase of the cycle.”

Nette nodded again and hesitantly rested her hand on Hildegarde’s shoulder, lightly squeezing as Hildegarde took some deep breaths and composed herself again. She wanted to ask more, but knew she should be as respectful and sensitive as Hildegarde had been with her. She owed her that much, at least. What was it Hildegarde had said, the first night? _I won’t ask for any explanations or stories. If you want to talk about it, I will listen. Otherwise, I will keep you company._ Yeah, she at least owed Hildegarde that much.

Hildegarde straightened her back and Nette let her hand fall away. “I’m going to shower,” Hildegarde announced in a businesslike tone. “And get dressed.” She plucked at her baggy sweatpants, which were faded in strange places and obviously very well-used and comfortable. Nette privately thought they looked a bit better than her usual maiden-auntie outfits, but knew better than to say so. “Then I’ll get some breakfast for us. Do you want to come along?”

Hildegarde had asked this every morning since Nette had been staying with her, and Nette appreciated the attempt at subtlety; a way of asking how Nette was coping, and whether she was approaching normalcy without outright asking and possibly making Nette feel ashamed of not being ready or stable. Nette chewed her lip and considered the question, taking into account what her headspace was like today.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Sure.”

\--

They went back to work two days after that and it was odd for them both to see the other dressed properly, with their hair and in Nette’s case makeup, restored to normal.

“Well,” Nette said to break the silence in which they were regarding each other by the lab door.

Hildegarde nodded as if they had agreed on something and without further ado, went to her desk and started booting up her computer, pulling some papers and books closer to her workstation. Nette turned away with a smile and surveyed her own workstation. Someone had cleared away all the messy scribbles she had made all over her notepads and whiteboards. Clean, fresh slate. Her specimens had been put away in the fridges and everything was neat and orderly. Must have been Hildegarde, she mused with a sideways look at her lab partner. There was something in the conspicuous orderliness of her workstation which mirrored the meticulous, carefully-controlled order of Hildegarde’s side of the room. Rereading her notes from the previous week, she found, confirming her suspicions, a note in Hildegarde’s compact, scratchy handwriting reading, “ _I have moved the tissue you were working on into the refrigerator on the top shelf in its transportation carrier. I had to move other specimens around to fit, but they are all still in the one place. H.G.”_

Nette must have made some sound of amusement for Hildegarde commented quietly, “I don’t know how you stand the stench of ammonia day in and day out, it’s enough to make my head spin from the other side of the room. Handling it once was quite enough for me.”

Nette grinned, seeing Hildegarde watching her from around her screen with a vaguely amused expression. “You get used to it. Who knows, maybe I dress so weirdly from all the fumes I’ve huffed over the years. Could be part of the great Kaiju master-plan, make us all into punks so off our heads we can’t discover anything about them.”

Hildegarde _snorted_ , then looked a little embarrassed. Nette’s grin stretched. “Quite possibly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to catch up on.”

“By all means,” Nette smiled, going over to the fridge with a distinct lightness in her chest. Things were okay. She had work to do, a comfortable atmosphere in which to do it, and the possibility of the real friendship she’d craved with Hildegarde edging into the future. She got out her specimen with a satisfied smile, snapping on some gloves and her labcoat from the back of her chair.

“Right, you lovely pile of cells and connective tissue and blood,” She murmured to the amorphous mass of tissue, buttoning up her labcoat and selecting a pair of forceps and a large scalpel. “Let’s see what your function is, hm? You might be interested to know that there’s a little bit of a bet riding on this, with my good friends at the Anchorage lab. They seem to think you’re a sort of Kaiju-spleen, producing bile and recycling blood products and whatnot. Personally, my money’s on more of a pancreatic function, or maybe a thymus. I really hope you’re glandular tissue, I could do with the money.”

She was so engrossed in extracting the tubular networks connecting parts of the tissue to each other that she didn’t notice Hildegarde’ smile from across the room.

\--

“Dr Geiszler,” Hildegarde said between clenched teeth in a forced polite tone, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would turn down the volume of your ‘music’. I am trying to concentrate.”

Nette said nothing, working on obliviously and humming, making amateurish beatbox noises in time with the beat.

“ _Dr Geiszler.”_

Heaving a sigh, Hildegarde picked up a small rubber and threw it across the room to hit Nette’s back. She jumped and whirled around, taking off her headphones. “Hey! What was that for?”

“I asked you if you wouldn’t mind turning down your music. I can hear it loudly from here and frankly I’m sure it must be damaging your hearing at such a volume. Kindly turn it down.” Hildegarde requested, still forcing politeness into her tone. She didn’t want to turn this into an argument; partly from their newfound truce which was still lasting a few days later, and partly because she was afraid Nette’s mood was still a little unstable in the wake of her cycle – Hildegarde didn’t want to set off another manic episode. Part of her knew this was being unfair to Nette, but after having spent the past week helping her weather the demons in her depression, Hildegarde didn’t want to repeat the experience so soon. Her own mood was rather suspect and she had enough to cope with trying to keep her own head above water, metaphorically speaking. Another little voice whispered that she was being selfish and unreasonable, but she was used to that one and knew how to block it out.

“My music? It’s great though, really gets me pumped and keeps me focused.”

“It does the opposite for me. I don’t object to you listening to music, as long as it’s quiet enough not to disturb me.”

Nette looked annoyed for a second as if she were going to snap back, then took a moment to think. “Okay,” She said. “I’ll keep it down. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Hildegarde nodded and turned back to her blackboards. She could still hear the faint pulse of the beat, but it was much quieter now and the numbers in front of her much clearer without the distraction. Smiling tightly to herself, she wrote a few notes to the side on possible solutions to her current tangle of equations that just wouldn’t mesh.

\--

“Oh my _God_ Hildegarde, please stop that!”

“What?”

Nette rolled her eyes as Hildegarde jerked out of her reverie. “The chalk-tapping thing you do, come on! It’s like you’re trying to bore a hole through the desk, quit it. It’s really messing with my concentration, and I need a steady hand to extract this section of tissue without rupturing it.”

Hildegarde frowned and started an angry reply, but cut herself off. “I’ll have you know that—! … Fine. I’ll stop.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Nette sighed, bending closer to her specimen and carefully snipping away delicate threads of fat and connective tissue to expose a tiny ball of a slimy orange color giving off a foul, petroleum reek as it defrosted. The tapping stopped, replaced with a gentle _thud, thud_ that sounded oddly like a heartbeat as Hildegarde tapped the chalk against her palm instead. The sound bled into the background noise of the lab until it was almost silent and Nette’s breathing had softened to match the thudding. In one two three and _snip thud_ out two three four five and _snip thud_ in one two three and _snip thud_ out two three four…

\--

“Okay and that lip-pursing thing you do is _horrendous_ I hate it can you please stop.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“You _know_ , when you’ve made a point and think you’ve won the argument or discussion or whatever and your eyebrows go up and you do the _thing_ like you’re so superior just quit it already, it makes me really angry. _You’re doing it now!”_

Hildegarde blinked and reached up to feel her face, looking bemused. “I hadn’t realised I made that expression,” She said quietly after a few minutes, avoiding Nette’s eyes as if she were ashamed. “I apologise. I will endeavour to check the behaviour.”

Nette nodded stiffly, though she was glad it hadn’t turned into a shouting match.

\--

“I am fed up of this!” Hildegarde cried, dashing across the lab and seizing the edged slabs of Kaiju organs scattered on every surface. “You have your own space on the other side of the room, kindly keep these noxious piles of meat over there!” She carried the trays and dumped them unceremoniously over Nette’s untidy piles of books and papers, squashing the spines flat and creasing pages with the weight.

“What are you _doing_?!” Nette screeched, hands flying to her hair as Kaiju Blue slopped over the edges of the trays and splashed, hissing onto the papers and starting to eat through them. Hildegarde stopped, holding one of the trays, and watched with shocked fascination as a sloppy hole was created in a particularly large hardback book. Nette ran forward, pushing Hildegarde roughly out of the way as she seized the trays and moved them rapidly onto a flatter surface, seizing handfuls of paper towels and dabbing up the hissing and spitting blood, unflinching when it struck her skin with ominous fizzing noises. She grabbed the book and flung it into the biohazard bin, breathing hard with her eyes flashing.

“Do you realise what you’ve just done?” She yelled, going toe to toe with the ashen-faced mathematician. “That book was a compiled journal stock of all published and unpublished Kaiju research since K-Day! Do you have any idea how much that was worth?”

“A lot, I presume,” Hildegarde breathed.

“More than a hundred dollars, no big deal! Out of my own pocket! I was published in there! It had my notes scribbled in it too, things from years ago and possible ways forward! It was _invaluable to me!”_

Hildegarde swallowed, watching the tears gathering in Nette’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a hoarse voice then, slipping out before she could stop it, “You should have kept your samples on your side of the lab, this wouldn’t have happened.”

They stared at each other in shock, silence ringing as loud as any shout. Nette stepped back, an absolutely revolted look on her face, and walked out of the lab shaking her head. Hildegarde was left standing in the wake of her own explosion, appalled at herself while self-loathing and shame roiled her guts like a bad case of food poisoning trying to decide which end to erupt from.

Nette didn’t return to the lab for another two days and refused to see anyone, even Tendo. When she reappeared, it seemed her anger had not abated. As she entered the room, she looked over at Hildegarde with a clearly disgusted expression, looking her up and down and finding her wanting and so _disappointed_ and angry, then stalking to the other side of the room. Swallowing down the sick feeling in her throat, Hildegarde stood and followed her to the desk.

“What’s this,” Nette said in a flat voice full of suppressed anger as she gestured at a box laid neatly on her desk.

“An apology.” Hildegarde replied quietly. Nette gave her a sideways look that spoke plainly of her distrust. She opened it however, untying the light blue bow holding the wrapping paper closed. She opened the box and stared down at it for a few moments. “It’s a replacement for the book that was damaged, and a collection of the newest papers released since its publication, which I ring-bound for your easier perusal.” Hildegarde said after a few minutes.

“I can see what it is.” Nette seemed to struggle with herself for a few moments. “Thank you.” She said stiffly.

“I am truly sorry for damaging the book.” Hildegarde raised her chin and broadened her shoulders as if bearing a great weight. “It had not been my intention, merely to move the specimens to your side of the lab. I cannot replace the notes you made in the original, but I hope this will help in some small way.”

Nette watched her for a minute and the tension in her shoulders and back melted away slowly. “I forgive you. I am also sorry for being inconsiderate and leaving specimens on your side of the lab.”

Hildegarde nodded and they regarded each other for a small time.

“I think we should draw up some lab rules,” Nette said eventually. “To keep things like this from happening and so we don’t, I dunno, kill each other some time in the near future. I really like you Hildegarde and I respect your work, but you can be a giant pain in the ass sometimes.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hildegarde muttered. “But yes, I agree.”

\--

“You can’t put ‘No dressing like an old lady’ on the rule board, Nette.”

“Well _you_ can’t put ‘No talking to the specimens when important mathematical innovation is being performed’ on it, either.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Your dress sense makes my teeth ache.”

“Wow, clever. I’ve never heard any version of that comment disparaging my way of dressing. Thank you for this unique opportunity to expand my encyclopedia of insults regarding my wardrobe and gender presentation.”

“Pff. Well, you can’t put ‘No dancing’ on there either, it’s been scientifically proven that dancing releases endorphins similar to those produced after walking around but with much greater concentrations due to the enhanced dopamine secretion from spatial awareness, enjoyment of the activity and exercise, improving mood and co-ordination as well as allowing for greater cerebral bloodflow which – I’ll explain for you as you’re a non-biologist shall I – helps with problem solving, a mechanism developed in our evolution from _Homo erectus_. Therefore, I must dance in order to work. It’s a scientific fact. So I’ll just go ahead and rub it off the board, mmkay?”

“You are infuriating _._ ”

“Aw, that’s so sweet Hildy, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“ _Don’t call me Hildy.”_

“Alright, alright, calm your tits.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just – don’t get so mad, jeez, it was a joke.”

“That’s better. While you’re over there, add ‘No slang regarding the female anatomy’, if you please.”

\--

“So what happened then?” Hildegarde asked, sipping her coffee and watching Nette’s hands waving energetically as she told her story.

“Well, I had to get up on stage, didn’t I? It was my first conference as well, and I hadn’t even got my first doctorate yet and I was so nervous you have no idea, especially with this massive great stain on my skirt! I tried scrubbing it off with cola but you know how that goes.”

Hildegarde grimaced sympathetically.

“So it just foams up and whitens even worse and it looks like a rabid dog has dribbled on me but naturally I look at it and think ‘oh my God, it looks like spooge—“

“I beg your pardon?”

“Spooge.” Nette blinked, flushing a bit. “You know, cum. Ejaculate. Sperm.”

“I get the picture,” Hildegarde said hastily, feeling her face heat. “Continue.”

“Anyway, so I’m there with this massive spoogey stain on my skirt in the _perfect_ place of course, right over my crotch, and I’m about to present as the only female in the entire conference to a hall of like, well over a hundred middle-aged guys…”

Hildegarde couldn’t help but wonder that if the substance had resembled rabid foam, she wouldn’t want to see a sperm sample with the same, er, mousse-like quality. Although she wasn’t very experienced, and certainly not a biologist, she was pretty sure ejaculate – _spooge, honestly –_ shouldn’t be foamy. She hoped not, anyway. It was a rather alarming train of thought and she quickly diverted her attention back to Nette.

“So I’m there about to shit myself with anxiety thinking they’re all gonna dismiss what I’m saying ‘cause I look like I just finished fu— flattering my way to my next conference, and I’m like _crippled_ with fear—“

“What?”

“I said I was crippled with fear, pay attention,” Nette frowned, “But somehow I manage to get up on stage…”

Hildegarde couldn’t pay any more attention. Her breath was suddenly short in her chest and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and static. She kept watching Nette, but the words washed right over her. All she could think was _she used that word I can’t believe this she used it twice how can she not know how hurtful that is, how hurtful it is to_ me? _Can she not see the cane, the limp?_ A swooping despair settled into her stomach and her head began to pound, fast and painful in time with her frantic heartbeat.

_Oh don’t mind the crip, she’s not gonna say anything,_ the memory of a high-pitched, nasally voice resounded in her head. _Go on, get out of here Wheels, get out right now! Don’t you fucking say anything, you hear me? Get out!_ She remembered being stepping over someone’s outstretched foot and sprawling flat on her face, crutches trapped underneath her and catching her wrists at painful angles, her hip screaming in agony and being unable to move at all with the hurt while the other children laughed and pointed, chanting and kicking her books away _cripple cripple falling down, falling down, falling down, why don’t you get up? Get up go on, oh look at her, what a freak…_

_No,_ she tried to say to herself, to take control of her thoughts. _I am an adult, not a child. I am not being ridiculed in the hallways. I am an adult sitting in the canteen. Nette is not intentionally mocking me. Calm down. Deep breaths._

“…you okay?” Nette’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Excuse me,” Hildegarde said stiffly, standing and holding her cane rather tighter than usual. “Stomach ache. I think I’ll go lay down for a while.”

“Oh, okay,” Nette replied with a crestfallen expression. “Feel better soon. I’ll tell you the rest of the story later.”

Hildegarde muttered something in reply and walked as quickly as she could out of the mess hall, feeling every contact of her cane against the ground and every swing and twinge of her hips like the laughter of her school friends come back to haunt her even now. Once she had reached the safety of her room, she locked the door and sat heavily on the bed, hiding her face in her hands.

_I am okay,_ she tried to reassure herself. _I am okay. Alright, so that was triggering. Nette used a horrible slur and she really should have known better. That’s not fun, but I’m okay. It’ll be okay. Cry if you need to, it’s okay. Get it all out._

She remembered the voice of her therapist from years ago, chiming in her mind. _And how much do you believe that statement to be true?_

_Ten percent_ , she thought miserably. _It doesn’t feel true at all. I am not okay. It’s never going to be okay. I’ll be stuck with that label, with this leg that’ll soon get worse again, for the rest of my lame, hobbled life._

She sobbed, the sound echoing in the metal room. She unpinned her hair and quickly changed into more comfortable clothes, avoiding looking at her leg and her body as much as she could, the revulsion and muted horror crawling up the back of her throat like bile. She broke the crystals of a heatpack to activate it and a plastic bag of ice from her tiny mini-fridge and curled up under her bedcovers. The heatpack went to her hip and the ice-bag to her chest, where she squeezed and pressed it against her skin until the burn gave way to numbness, her hands clumsy and shaking with the cold. She pressed the cubes to her torso and thighs while she sobbed into the pillow, fighting the urges to do more, to do more than just feel the burn.

“No,” She gasped, shaking her head abruptly. “ _No._ ”

Fumbling with the ice-bag, she withdrew a cube and held it in her hand, clutching it as tightly as possible until the edges cutting into her skin with cold-burn melted and started to trickle between her fingers, down her arm and wetting her pajama shirt. It calmed those particular urges, but left her with more attention to the black weight throbbing balefully in her mind.

The next day, there was a knock on her door. This time, Hildegarde wasn’t asleep, but she didn’t hurry to get up. She continued staring at the blank wall beside her bed, blinking only when her eyes started to itch.

“Hildegarde?” The voice was muffled through the metal, but definitely Nette’s. Hildegarde fought to care, and came up with nothing. “Are you okay? Is your stomach still hurting?”

_I don’t want to see you,_ Hildegarde thought blearily. _I don’t want to see anyone. Go away. If I’m quiet maybe she’ll think I’m asleep._

“Look, I’m worried about you. You looked all funny in the canteen yesterday, are you sure it’s not um – food poisoning?”

The particular care with which Nette said that spoke volumes that Nette had an inkling that depression was perched firmly on her shoulder.

“Please let me in, Hildegarde. Let me look after you, like you did to me before.”

_It would probably be healthier to see someone so I’m not alone_ , the small, quietly rational part of her brain mumbled. Hildegarde sighed and sluggishly rolled out of bed, not bothering with her dressing gown. She opened the door for Nette and sat back in bed, covers pulled up to her chin as she stared at the floor.

“Do you want to play cards?” Nette asked quietly once the door was closed and she was settled at the bottom of the bed. She switched on a small light so the room wasn’t completely dark. Hildegarde shook her head.

“You don’t have to say anything about it,” Nette said softly. “I’m here for you, like you were for me.” She reached out and gently patted Hildegarde’s ankle under the duvet.

“Don’t touch my leg,” Hildegarde said sharply, folding her arms and still staring at the floor.

“Sorry. I won’t do that again.”

“This is your fault.”

Nette’s mouth opened in shock, like a startled goldfish. _Good,_ Hildegarde thought nastily. _Let her feel a bit of pain._ After a few seconds, the cruel urge ebbed away to be replaced with sickly shame and she sighed. “I didn’t really mean that.”

“You meant it a bit, though,” Nette replied softly, looking at her through the dim light. “Did I do something?”

Hildegarde fought with her tongue for a few moments, feeling vaguely sick. “You said – you said you were _crippled with fear.”_

“What?”

“ _Crippled.”_

“I don’t understand.”

Hildegarde grabbed her cane and shook it in Nette’s shocked face. “What do you think I’ve been called all my life, huh? What do you think I am? What do you think people say when I’m out of earshot? I can say I’m disabled until I turn blue in the face, but all people hear is _cripple_ and it just becomes another word for them, just another way to ridicule and prove themselves superior, just another way to demean someone as being subhuman—“

“Whoah!” Nette cried, looking shocked and a little angry. “I didn’t mean it, okay? I didn’t mean it like that, it was just a dumb expression, I’m sorry I didn’t realise—“

“There you go again, a _dumb_ expression. I’d have thought you’d understand, of all people. You’re just like them.”

“I am not! I’m not a bully or anything like that! It was just a stupid expression okay and I’m sorry I used it, jeez!”

Hildegarde looked at her in silence for a minute, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. Very quietly, she replied. “And how would you feel if I said I was crazy, if I were having a mad moment, if a party were insane, if there was some maniac running a red light, some psycho hanging around? How would you feel if I told you to stop being so sensitive and just take a joke?”

Nette gaped, her expressions changing like wind on water from shock, anger, hurt to guilt and sadness over the space of a few minutes.

“Fuck, I did the whole angry denial thing,” Nette muttered, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Hildegarde, I really am. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise how hurtful that could be, especially to you.”

Hildegarde nodded, swallowing another sob and taking deep breaths to calm down. “It’s not-okay, but it’s okay,” she mumbled after a while. “At least you know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that rubbish. Just think about your language.”

“I will, Hildegarde, I’m so sorry.”

She nodded again and they sat in silence for a while, looking away from each other.

“How can I help you through this?” Nette asked.

“Just stay with me,” Hildegarde forced herself to say, hating her weakness.

Nette reached out and rested her palm over Hildegarde’s hand. “You’re not alone, Hildegarde. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone.”

\--

**May 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome**

“Thank you both for coming today,” Pentecost greeted them, gesturing them into his office. The K-Science division took their seats and waited for him to settle behind his desk.

“Is there a problem with our work, Marshall?” Hildegarde asked promptly as soon as he was settled.

“On the contrary,” He replied, lips twitching a smile. “You’ve been working together for a little over three months now, and I’m glad to say that both of your projects have borne fruit, and far more rapidly than expected.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Nette admitted.

“You remember me saying you two tested as Drift Compatible? Well, in whatever way you have compatibility, it’s very good for you two to be working off each other. New developments and ideas have been coming out of the K-Science division faster than anyone anticipated, even myself I must admit. Well done.”

Nette and Hildegarde exchanged a baffled glance, and Nette said what was on both their minds. “But we fight all the time.”

Pentecost made a sort of shrugging motion while managing not to move his shoulders. “I’m not saying I understand it, but your partnership seems to be working, however you’re doing it. I suggest you start actively collaborating on your projects rather than simply working in the same room. I am of the opinion even greater gains could be made with both of you focused on each other’s goals, informing each other’s expertise.”

The meeting concluded a short while after this, and the two scientists walked back to their lab in thoughtful silence. Nette was the first one to break it.

“Do you really think we could work _together_ on something without yelling all the time?”

“I’m not sure,” Hildegarde mused, looking from her orderly blackboards to Nette’s piles of messy notes liberally spattered with only slightly dangerous chemicals. “I think it would be interesting to see if we could accomplish something like that.”

Nette grinned and held up her hand for a high-five. Hildegarde rolled her eyes and walked over to a piece of A3 paper taped to the wall. “How many times do I have to say it, Nette? No high-fives, it’s right here on our rules.”

They smiled at each other. “Bring your notes over here,” Hildegarde suggested, clearing a space on her desk. “Let’s see where we cross over.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again :) Sorry for the long pause, I started back at uni and as it's my final year things have been pretty hectic from the word go. I think I've got a handle on my schedule now so hopefully there'll be a return to weekend updates. Also a big thank you to my friends Molly and Robyn for letting me wax lyrical about Nette and Hildegarde and who helped work me back up into my enthusiasm for the fic, you guys are awesome.  
> Okay, enough of that. Hope you enjoy.

TW: Discussion of Sexual Harassment, Internalised Misogyny, mentions of Dysmorphia.

I'm really sorry about the long blocks of text in this chapter; I know it makes it harder to read but it was very difficult to break the sections down without disrupting the flow of the speech. Apologies, ch8 shouldn't be as blocky.

* * *

 

**May 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome**

 

Nette prides herself that she is a naturally busy person, that her mind is always going a mile a minute in search of some sort of answer to anything you could think of. She was well known for her quick thinking and ability to do about twenty things before you could say 'hyper filtrated venous return', and knew quite happily that this reputation was well deserved. 

Well, mostly. Aside from times like now which really, when you think about it, only serve to prove the point by contrast. Anyone could say that if they saw her now, sitting at her desk, peering - no, observing - through the gap in the pile of papers and books stacked around her like a kiddy fort, peering at Hildegarde on the other side of the room with next to nothing running through her mighty brain. Simple stuff really.   
She could think of almost nothing as she watched her lab partner stand before her chalkboards like a tyrannical orator at the podium, like a southern hellfire priest before a church of ungodly sinners, like a - okay no enough with the similes girl you're a biologist not a linguist. Anyway, as she watched Hildegarde survey her work with a steely gaze and an impatient foot, tapping away her frustration. Hildegarde had already filled four huge chalkboards full of what Nette politely regarded as numerical circle jerking (not within Hildegarde's hearing of course), and seemed determined to either fill even more or erase her weeks of work and start over. 

Nette was familiar with the urge; she too had hit somewhat of a metaphorical brick wall - and possibly a steel one too if that might speed up the blood perfusion to her brain - with her current work on trying to determine the flow mechanics of Kaiju lymph systems (assuming those systems were indeed analogous to Earth mammalian samples as she theorised) from a combination of eliminating all possible theories with intense rigorous proof, and not having any fresh samples to examine. It had left her in a bit of a sulk if she was being honest with herself, and feeling rather useless without anything to do but sit on her hands and relabel the frozen samples. She knew Hildegarde had been working on a similar pet project, trying to determine the forces from extreme to atomic that the Kaiju would have to endure through crossing the Breach; helped and informed by Nette's work on Kaiju stress responses, she was proud to add. She wasn't entirely sure about the scope of Hildegarde's project - yet more numerical circle jerking and much stomping about whacking her cane on things - but knew that her lab partner was equally stumped and pissed off.   
Nette couldn't help but note, however, that there was a certain dignified... majesty was the wrong word, but something along those lines, to the way Hildegarde would stand and read through her work in silence broken only by thoughtful muttering, and through sheer perseverance and astoundingly casual brilliance wrench an answer from the ether of thought and chalk dust, that was very often rather beautiful to watch. From a scientific perspective. There was something undeniably enthralling about watching someone work the way Hildegarde worked, her mind and soul crafted in numbers and symbols running along invisible tracks and forming their own path to answers no one was aware of even being possible. The abstraction of Hildegarde as she worked, Nette contemplated, was both amusing and curious. She seemed to have little awareness of her body as she worked aside from the hand which held her chalk, no idea of the range of expressions that crossed her face and the emotions expressed through the set of her shoulders and back. It was a little strange that Nette felt she could read her lab partner much better this way, when she was unaware of giving a silent monologue of sorts, expressing feelings she would normally tightly control without awareness or care. Nette could really see the joy and excitement Hildegarde found in her work, when normally she was so impassive and clinical you would be hard pressed to know whether she had any interest at all. She could see the frustration and distraction and determination more clearly than if she were screaming out loud. It reminded Nette of when they were in correspondence, and how much easier Hildegarde seemed to find expressing herself than in person, in a vocal conversation. 

Yes, she thought as she watched Hildegarde spin her chalk around her fingers, it was quite amazing to watch her work.   
A knock at the door startled Nette out of her contemplation, making her chin slip off her hand and bang onto a book stack. Rubbing her jaw, she went to open the door (Hildegarde didn't even jump, honestly). Opening it, she beamed to see Mako standing there.   
"Mako! Do come in," she smiled.   
"I hope I'm not disrupting your work. Can you take a little break?"  
"Oh, well, I'm not sure if I really can - so much work oh God I'm absolutely drowning in work - but I reckon I can squeeze you in. Come here." She grinned and pulled Mako into a tight hug, laughing ruefully at the force in Mako's grip as she squeezed back.   
"All that strength training is really paying off, huh?"  
"Yes," Mako grinned excitedly. "I want to be in as best position as I can before I join the Academy."  
"Quite right too," Nette beamed, pulling out another chair for her. "Show them all what you're made of."   
"I'm sure I will," Mako smiled. "Father is still unsure about it, but I've made up my mind and I’m going to do it."  
"Great! You do have his permission though, right? You're not going to sneak off in the middle of the night or something?"  
Mako laughed and patted Nette's hand companionably. "No, no, he knows it's happening. He worries, that's all."  
"That's kinda what dads do, it'll be fine."

Mako smiled and looked around the room, watching Hildegarde for a few moments. "Is she stuck?"  
"We both are really," Nette sighed, leaning back in her chair and swivelling about absently. "I don't have anything meaningful to work on until I get some new samples, which unfortunately means waiting for another Kaiju attack. I think Hildegarde's stumped herself on her stresses project, and you know what she's like, hates leaving something unfinished. She won't be happy working on anything else until she's solved this one." Nette smiled as she watched Hildegarde add a few more lines of equations to one of the boards, moving with excitement and purpose, like she were discovering something brand new.   
"What?" Nette asked, seeing a certain look on Mako's face.   
"Nothing," she replied with a smug look. "Nothing at all. If you're not doing anything, you could come meet the Hansens, they just touched down half an hour ago."

"I forgot they were coming today. Sure, why not. Maybe inspiration will strike if I'm bored silly listening to Jaegar talk."

Mako chided her as she walked across the room, though she knew Nette had only been teasing. Nette looked over Hildegarde’s boards for a few moments, waiting until the absorbed mathematician had come to a natural pause. She gently rested her hand on Hildegarde’s shoulder and smiled when she turned. “Hey. Want to take a break for a bit? The Hansens touched down a little while ago. Wanna go say hi?”

Hildegarde contemplated her work for a few moments, then nodded and set her chalk down. “Alright. I think I could use some fresh air.”

“Fab,” Nette smiled. “Let’s go.”

The three of them set off, chatting amiably about nothing of great importance, Hildegarde refusing to listen to them trade gossip, Nette playfully making faces behind Hildegarde’s back when she spoke, Mako fondly linking their arms together and walking between them. They wandered through the hallways until they found the lounge area where the Hansens were sitting, talking to their other friends. Herc spotted them first and got to his feet, beaming.

“Mako! Stack said you were around still, not jetted off to the Jaegar Academy then?” He said, opening his arms and squeezing her in a tight hug.

“Not yet,” Mako grinned back, looking up at him fondly. “I still have until January. You’ll have to visit more often to keep Father from becoming a work-hermit.”

Herc laughed and lightly ran his thumb over her cheek with a paternal fondness. “I can do that, don’t you worry. Now scooch over muffin, I’m being really rude. Dr Geiszler, Dr Gottlieb, it’s good to see you again.” He smiled at them, apparently genuinely pleased to see them for all that they had a less friendly relationship with him than Mako. He extended his hand and they shook with him. Hildegarde even looked a little flattered he seemed so sincerely happy to see them again.

“It’s great to see you again too, you and your son,” Nette replied, smiling at Chuck who was sitting on the couch, watching things with an expression of practised boredom and apathy. He nodded back at them politely but didn’t get up or say anything.

“Yes, you’ve been missed around here,” Hildegarde pitched in to Nette’s slight surprise. Normally Hildegarde avoided socialising as much as possible and here she was, inserting herself into the conversation. “You seem to bring a little light to the Shatterdome.”

Herc looked bashfully pleased. “That’s sweet of you, Dr Gottlieb, thanks. Well, we’ll be here for a few days so you can get your fill of sunshine.”

Nette smiled. “How’s work been? We heard things are getting a little tight at Sydney.”

Hildegarde frowned in concern as Herc’s expression clouded a little; Nette abruptly remembered that Hildegarde had worked in the Sydney Shatterdome for some years, and might have run into Herc more than Nette. Perhaps she was concerned for the people still working there, her former colleagues.

“A little,” Herc replied. “Of course with all the research departments shuffled here, and all the resources slowly being transferred or cut off, it’s all getting a bit difficult. We know that Striker Eureka will be finished and we’ll get to pilot it, but it’s gonna be the only one of its kind from what we’ve heard. The Jaegar programs are all being shut down or relocated, it’s all getting a bit grim.”

“Oh, shoot. Sorry Herc, I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

“No matter,” Herc said, hitching up a smile and gesturing for them to sit down on the couches with him. “How have things been here?”

Nette, as the more personable one, immediately launched into a rapid discussion of the latest developments in Hong Kong, sharing Tendo’s progress with the new neural bridge programs with evident pride in her friend’s success and sharing some more gossip. Hildegarde was content to sit and contribute only when she had something of scientific value to add, looking around the room absently. She could feel her thoughts ticking away in the background, subconsciously working on her current problem and she let her attention stray, giving it time to process itself.

She noticed Mako was sitting with Chuck, chatting quietly, and seemed to have managed to bring him out of his adolescent sulk, though as Hildegarde watched him she noticed his eyes flickering every so often to Nette and lingering on her in a way that made Hildegarde’s flesh creep. She had little experience with young boys since she left school, but the way he was looking at Nette’s chest and legs was making her feel tense all over again. Mako noticed too after a little while, when she frowned and followed his line of sight as it was obvious he wasn’t listening to her. She prodded him hard in the side, her cheeks flushed and a hurt scowl on her face. He murmured what Hildegarde supposed was an apology and listened to Mako again. After a little while, however, his gaze strayed again and this time not just to Nette, who was leaning forwards eagerly in her talk with Herc and unfortunately showing more cleavage than intended in Chuck’s general direction, but also to Hildegarde. She saw, from the corner of her eye, his stares at her cane and leg. Those stares she was used to, as odious as they were. It was when she could feel him looking her over with the same cold, judging appraisal she remembered from her own adolescence, the way the boys would look all the girls over like walking slabs of meat, judging them and sharing comments with each other, comments intended to hurt or humiliate the girls well within earshot.

She felt herself gripping her cane more tightly and forced herself to take slow breaths, refocussing on Herc’s conversation and trying to ignore the creeping of her flesh. It mostly worked, but when they eventually left to get back to work, she still felt riled up and unsettled.

“What’s up?” Nette asked when Mako had left them to get on with work.

Hildegarde grimaced and forced her shoulders to relax. “It’s nothing.”

“Clearly something, if you’re all knotted up about it,” Nette frowned, leaning against Hildegarde’s desk and watching her expectantly.

She sighed. “The Hansen boy, Chuck. He was staring at us the whole time. You, more specifically. More specifically again, at your chest.” She involuntarily glanced there herself and looked away, feeling a slight blush creeping up on her. “He was leering, it was… unsettling. Perhaps you should button your shirt a little more.”

Nette looked down at herself and unashamedly resettled her bra, moving her breasts and examining the result. “I’m not showing anything more than normal,” Nette frowned. “I’m careful about how much cleavage I show, believe it or not. Where else was he staring?”

Nette seemed annoyed but not as unsettled as Hildegarde. She felt herself flushing as she replied. “Your legs and, if I may be crass for a moment, your backside. He was so distracted he wasn’t even listening to Mako.”

“Creepy kid,” Nette said, folding her arms defensively under her bust. “That’s what we get for letting teenage boys think women are objects to be ogled. I’ll talk to Herc about it later, if Mako hasn’t already. Why are you so upset? Was he leering at you too?”

“No,” Hildegarde said with a flash of bitterness swooping in her stomach. “Not in the same way. Not… admiringly.”

“Trust me, it’s not admiration, it’s creepy and it’s harassment. You don’t want that kind of attention, Hildegarde.”

“I _know_ ,” Hildegarde snapped, flushing again in embarrassment. “That wasn’t what I meant, I didn’t _want_ him to look at me like that.” She added, knowing it wasn’t entirely true. She in no way wanted a teenage boy to look at her like that, but sometimes it would be nice to know someone found her appealing, even in a creepy way. _Ugh_ , she thought in disgust. _I have got to sort out these esteem issues. I’ve only had them for twenty odd years after all._ Nette nodded, waiting for her to go on. She blew out her breath abruptly. “He was looking at me as if… it was judging. I know very well I am not an attractive woman and that I have no sense of fashion or any flattering clothes, but I could do without strangers deriding me from across the room or street.”

She clenched her jaw and avoided looking at Nette. She jumped when Nette reached out to touch her hand. “Hey,” Nette said quietly. Hildegarde glanced at her, finding her brow creased in an expression of mixed sympathy and something almost protective. “Don’t put yourself down like that. You’re not traditionally pretty, but you are attractive. Your whole face lights up when you get interested or excited in something, and when you’re giving a talk on your research or something you’re keen about, you’re amazing. Don’t say things like that about yourself.”

Hildegarde felt her mouth puckering bitterly. _What would Nette know_ , she thought. _She’s beautiful and fashionable and trendy and slim and attractively curvy rather than flabby, she has no idea._  

“I’d like to get back to work now, if you don’t mind,” She said stiffly, reaching behind Nette to grab some papers. She felt Nette watching her but avoided her gaze, and eventually Nette went back to her side of the room.

The next day, Hildegarde was surprised to see Nette hadn’t changed her style of dress. She wasn’t dressed any differently than usual, but she notably hadn’t opted for anything less likely to get her ogled.

“Don’t you think you should cover up a bit more?” Hildegarde said after a while. “I know you remember that Herc wants to meet up at lunch, and his son will certainly be there.”

Nette took a deep breath through her nose and spoke in a tone of studied patience. “Hildegarde. This might be difficult to understand, but I’m gonna try and explain anyway. I refuse to change how I dress because of a mouthbreather kid without any manners. I don’t like being stared at and believe me I do not enjoy the attention. I don’t dress the way I do because I want attention from anyone – if I were looking for a hookup or a date then believe me, you’d know about it. I dress and present myself in the way that is most comfortable for me while expressing my personality as far as professional boundaries stretch. I dress this way for _me,_ because it makes me feel happier in my own body. It is not my fault that he doesn’t know better than to ogle strangers, and I refuse to cover myself. That does _not_ mean that I’m ‘asking’ to get stared at, it means I am in control of my body and I refuse to let society dictate what is acceptable for my body. Our culture is still so warped to think that a woman’s body is so inherently sexual that everything she does with it has to be monitored and controlled and altered for the approval of men we don’t even know. My body is my business, and if I covered it up because of something like this I’d just be playing into their hands and letting them control me again. It has taken so many years to get to this point of loving myself and to have confidence in my own authority and agency, and I absolutely refuse to let go of that. I’m lucky enough that I don’t have to necessarily worry about getting attacked for the way I dress, and that I am free to do this without danger to my safety. So I will not lessen myself to avoid the attention of a kid who needs to learn that women’s bodies belong to themselves and not to any observer.”

Nette paused to catch her breath and waited for Hildegarde to say something. She stayed quiet, apparently thinking over what she had been saying. With a proud lift of her chin, Nette continued.

“And part of this whole problem is your reaction, Hildegarde – I’m not trying to start a fight here. Just hear me out, okay? Okay. Well, part of this whole bullshit deal society has with controlling women and convincing us we’re only worth what men will think of us, is that they brainwash us to buy into it as well. As little kids we’re taught to talk about other girls behind their backs, judge each other’s clothes, talk shit to other people, bitch and fight among ourselves. We’re taught that other women are competition for a man’s attention and we shouldn’t trust each other, shouldn’t stand up for each other when a guy hurts us, that we should agree with him for a slightly better chance at his attention. Don’t you see how sick that is? And it gets even worse in male-dominated fields. Women are already a minority in science and mathematics as I know you’re aware, we have to fight against so much _crap_ just from our male colleagues, and then we’re taught to judge the other women who we should be standing with, shoulder to shoulder, in solidarity against all the sexist _bullshit_. I bet you’ve been taught your whole life that pretty girls, girls with makeup, girls who obsess over their clothes – girls who look a lot like me – are stupid, that they only care about a boy’s attention. Yeah?”

Hildegarde felt her face draining of colour, struck speechless at how accurately Nette seemed to have seen through her armour and cut right down to the quick of her. Nette didn’t pause long enough to let her say anything.

“You’ve been taught that any woman dressing the way I do, to show off her assets and feel confident in her own body and sexuality, can’t be taken seriously. That she only care about the attention of others. And you have to know that’s bullshit, I really hope you know that. On the other side of the coin, I’ve been taught by other girls like me that a woman who ‘gives in’, who dresses like a man or to cover herself up is judging herself by how her male peers judge her. A woman like that dresses like a man to try and get the approval of men even if she doesn’t realise it, that school of thought teaches. Now, I know that’s not entirely true and that most people just dress how they feel most comfortable, but can’t you see how all this is still buying into all that high school bitchiness? It’s still tearing each other down when really we should be finding strength in each other as other women in science, but unless everyone knows these sorts of automatic behaviours are happening we can never change anything. Do you get it?”

Hildegarde looked at her for a few minutes, seeing how intense her expression and bearing had become, how passionate she was about what she was saying and even the anger kept tightly under control.

“Alright,” Hildegarde said after a few minutes. “I think you’ve made good points, and I can see where you’re coming from. I don’t dress the way I do for a man’s approval. I’ll thank you not to speculate any further on my presentation, I don’t wish to discuss it.”

Nette nodded. “Okay, fair enough, I’m sorry for implying that.”

Hildegarde nodded stiffly. “I think you have a lot of good points, and some things I’d never considered. However, I think you’re overstating the issue rather a tad. You can dress however you want, but the fact remains that you dress distinctly provocatively – whether you intend it to be that way or not, this is the world we live in, the workplace we interact with other scientists within. And the way you dress attracts male attention like moths to a flame. It’s not an ideal world, but it’s the one we live in and I think for the sake of professionalism, you should cover up more.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Nette shot back, her tone pitching up in frustration.

“I did,” Hildegarde replied, fighting to keep her own tone level. “And as much as we shouldn’t look for a man’s attention, in all likelihood our academic superiors in our lifetimes will always be men and we will always need their approval for our work – be it for research grants or simply being considered for job interviews. It’s not ideal, but it’s reality. I think you should consider ‘my side of the coin’, as you put it. The way you dress gets a man’s attention and sexual approval, which gives you a greater advantage over me. The way I dress incurs judgement and derision. Now I don’t personally care much what others think of me, but in the workplace it is a disadvantage. People see me and dismiss what I have to say because I don’t appear attractive enough to merit their attention. I am excluded from male company for being smart and female and not dressing in an appealing way. As you noted three years ago, men tend not to listen in my lectures because they think that if I’m not attractive I am not worth their attention. You, however, will always be guaranteed academic attention by virtue of being attractive and confident.”

“Yes, okay, that’s a fair point, but the attention I get is in no way an actual advantage to me academically!” Nette replied, looking frustrated at not getting her point across. “Yes, the men look at me, but they don’t actually listen to what I say! They spend all my lectures staring at my body and not listening to what I’m teaching. They devalue my contributions because they think I’m a ‘bimbo’. I face stares and comments and harassment in the workplace because men think that the way I dress is an invitation for sexual attention. I can’t afford to make any mistakes or say anything that might be even slightly misconstrued because that would just open up the doors for more harassment or even getting demoted or fired – that’s actually happened to me, by the way! In a workplace where the men were dressed appallingly, not in any formalwear, allowed to wear vests and tank tops to work and swear and make sex jokes in front of peers. Okay just picture that. And after working there for three months, I get fired. Want to guess why? It had nothing to do with the quality of my work – which by the way was much better than my male colleagues’ – but the excuses given were that the way I dressed was unprofessional, a distraction and that everyone was sure I was fucking everyone there and trying to sleep my way into a job promotion. None of that was true, I shouldn’t need to say, but it legitimately got me fired. The attention I get is incredibly bad for my employability, just as bad as your lack of attention is bad for you. But anyway! Neither of us win, we both lose! That’s the whole point! We’re brainwashed from the word go to tear at each other and criticize every expression of individuality and free will so we can’t focus on helping each other and putting a stop to all this bullshit! Neither of us has it worse, we both have it _bad_ and we should be standing together on this, not arguing with each other!”

The silence that fell seemed to ring and reverberate as they watched each other calm down.

“I think you have a lot of good points, Nette, I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Hildegarde said eventually. “I think we’ll just have to disagree on some things.”

Nette watched her for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, I suppose so. Thanks for listening anyway.”

Hildegarde nodded, feeling vaguely proud that they had managed to have their discussion without resorting to yelling like usual. Silence reigned for another little while, then Nette reached out and gently brushed Hildegarde’s hand again.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Hildegarde,” She said quietly. “You might not believe it and it’s not as easy to see, but you are. Don’t let other people’s jealousy turn into your reality.”

She turned away and went back to her side of the room, pulling on a labcoat and surveying her notes. Hildegarde turned back to her boards with her fists clenched and jaw trembling with the effort of holding in sudden tears. _You can say that, Nette_ , she thought miserably, words she couldn’t say aloud. _And I appreciate the sentiment. It actually means a lot that you of all people think I can be attractive. But you don’t understand all of what drives these fears. You couldn’t understand unless you live in my skin, unless you know how ‘beautiful’ makes me so uneasy and I’d rather we stuck to ‘attractive’ instead. I’m not an attractive woman. I can’t be womanly. I don’t know what I am, but I know that I am not what I appear to be by default, no matter how hard I try._

She quickly wiped her eyes and forced her attention back to her chalkboards, burying that whole train of thought and all the emotion that accompanied it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet, buckle up. Another huge thank you to Robyn and Molly for bravely volunteering as betas for this chapter, you guys are fab. From this chapter on, Nette and Hildegarde's relationship will start to diverge from the canon of Newt & Hermann as presented in the film, mostly because in my experience, men in this position tend to create a rivalry while women tend to work together with greater understanding of each other. No major plot changes, mostly just a difference in their relationship. Hope you enjoy. (EDIT see note at end)

If anyone's interested, I made approximate models of Nette and Hildegarde on a Sims4 demo, [here](http://spanglebangle.tumblr.com/post/101371060923/guess-whos-lame-its-me-i-downloaded-the-sims4) :) That's also my tumblr if anyone wants to drop into my inbox. 

TW: Anxiety, Panic Attack, Dysphoria, Mentions of Self Harm, Depression. 

* * *

 

**August 8 th 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome And City**

“I just don’t know what to do, Nette,” Tendo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to go for it, but I don’t want to lose the creative freedom I have at the minute. I feel like if I go for the promotion, I’ll be stuck doing console work. I mean, that’s great and vital and all, but I _love_ designing the equipment and programming and figuring out little kinks and making sure it all works properly and improving it… I just don’t know. The pay would be better, and I’d have more free time, but…” He sighed again and flopped back into her lap. They were slumped in one of the lesser-frequented lounges, Tendo lying lengthways along the couch with his head on Nette’s stomach, who was stretched out with her feet on a massive pile of cushions.

“That’s a tough one,” Nette agreed, gently prying his hands away from his hair and gently combing out the tangles herself with her fingers. “Did Pentecost say specifically why he wanted you to take the job?”

“He said he could use someone with my skills at the helm, or some sort of metaphor like that,” Tendo frowned, idly kicking the armrest with his feet. “Someone who knows the stuff inside-out and how to work it double-quick time.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” Nette encouraged, stroking his hair away from his face. “He must really value your skills.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Did he say you’d be doing exclusively console work? I mean, maybe he just wants you to take the position during missions to direct the Jaegars and pilots. Maybe he didn’t mean all the time, he’s got to know how much your projects mean to you. Hell, the new Pons and a lot of the new integration systems wouldn’t be here without you, that’s a fact pure and simple. What is it you’re up for? The National Supreme Most Excellent Amazing Technology Award or something?”

Tendo smiled ruefully. “The National Supreme Scientific and Technological Award, as you very well know. It’s no Nobel but I guess it’ll have to do, if they award it to me. Seeing as I technically have Chinese citizenship, might as well make use of it I guess.”

Nette grinned at the carefully buried nervousness and excitement in his voice. If he was granted the award he would be the second Kaiju-era scientist to earn it, and the first one who hadn’t actually designed the Jaegars and original Pons in the first place. Nette knew she could ask Hildegarde if she wanted the particulars of that. In her mind, Tendo had more than earned it, and she knew he was waiting for the phone call that should be coming in a few days to say whether he had been chosen from the shortlist.

“And Gipsy Danger will be transferred here soon, maybe he wants you to work on its restoration.”

“Mm, that would be cool.”

“Have you talked it over with Alison?”

“Not yet,” Tendo sighed again, closing his eyes as Nette kept stroking his hair. “I wanted to get it sorted in my own head a bit first.”

“Mm, fair enough. I’d say ask Pentecost for more details, see if you can wrangle in doing the LOCCENT work as well as your own development projects. And definitely talk to Alison, you know she’d seriously lose her cool if she heard you were talking it over with me first.” Nette couldn’t help the tone of bitterness that crept into her voice.

Tendo opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Hey, don’t get upset Netsie. She’s totally cool with you as a person, it’s just taking a while for her to get her head around our relationship.”

“She thinks I’m trying to ‘steal’ you or whatever, you know.”

“She doesn’t really think that, it’s just difficult for her to understand. She’s trying really hard, but everyone slips up sometimes.” Tendo took her hand and gently kissed her fingers. “Don’t let it get in your head. Polyamory and ace relationships are hard enough for other people to understand on their own, never mind when they’re combined.”

“She is doing well with the poly stuff,” Nette admitted, going back to stroking his hair. “It was cool of her not to get all uptight and ‘it’s cheating!’ on us. Probably makes it easier that we’re not actually screwing each other, to be honest.”

“Probably. I think at the moment she can see it as just a _really_ close friendship, you know? She’s trying really hard to adjust and be open-minded.”

“I know, I really do appreciate it. I’m not trying to get at her, Tendo. She’s a really great lady, fuckin’ awesome. I hope this all works out, especially with you two. I mean, if she says she’s not cool with us being together like this, I understand that completely. And although I’d still feel the same way about you, I get that she’s your lady and you want to be together in the long-term, you know?”

“I know,” Tendo smiled, lacing their fingers together on his chest. “Don’t forget _you’re_ a really great lady too.”

“Oh never fear of that,” Nette grinned, squeezing his fingers. “I’m all about my own awesomeness.”

“That’s my girl,” Tendo smiled.

“Aww, that was so cringey I almost threw up in my mouth,” Nette said in a mock-sweet voice.

Tendo laughed and swatted at her leg. “You’re impossible, I was trying to be nice!”

“I know, I know,” Nette grinned. “Sorry. That _was_ nice, good job. B-plus.”

Tendo rolled his eyes and they sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company and the quiet comfort in being close with someone else.

“What’s happening for K-Day, do you know?” Tendo asked. “I know there was a memo but I have so much in my inbox at the minute it got buried and deleted I think.”

“Dude seriously just organize your damn inbox into folders,” Nette laughed. “For a techie you’re surprisingly bad at emails, you know. Um, well there’s going to be a remembrance ceremony in one of the big halls, probably in the actual Dome for better dramatic effect, knowing Pentecost. Then I think there’s another ceremony in the main square with the general public. Then I think everyone’s going out drinking, work’s off on the actual day. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Mm. I think if I were in San Fran it would be worse. I’ll be okay, I’ll visit his grave when I next have leave.”

Nette slowly ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll be there, and so will Alison. Hildegarde too, she likes you a lot.”

“I’m just drowning in lady-love,” Tendo smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. Does Hildegarde like me? It’s hard to tell with her.”

“Yeah, dude. She really respects you, especially as she’s helping me as well now, she respects all the support you give me. And you’re a nice guy, people always like you. I wouldn’t get a BFF tattoo for her though, she might not appreciate that.” Nette grinned and Tendo snorted.

“Fair enough. How are things going with her, anyway? I haven’t been able to pop into the lab much lately.”

“I know, I noticed.” Nette poked him playfully then tilted her head back against the backrest as she thought. “Things are good. Friendly. I think we’ve moved on from all the fighting when we first met and all that junk. I mean, we still argue every so often, but it’s usually about work and more often than not we work it out or it gets channeled into work. We’ve always respected each other’s work – okay, aside from when she was horribly snobby when we first met – I mean when we were emailing, and now that we’ve worked things out more, I dunno it’s just nice. We don’t fully understand everything each other’s doing, but it’s really great to watch her work, you know? And she’s said _more than once_ that my work is, and I quote, ‘bafflingly complicated and messy’. It was a compliment.” Nette grinned. “Things are good.”

“That crush still hanging around, huh?”

“Oh shut _up_ ,” Nette groaned, shoving him as her cheeks warmed. “You’re a pain, I should never have said anything about that.”

“Okay, okay,” Tendo said quickly as he fought to stay on the couch rather than the floor. “Sorry. You’re seeing her today though, right?”

“Yeah, we’re actually gonna be girly for once and go shopping. Should be a nice change from the lab, and I finally managed to convince her to buy some better clothes. Or at least one better suit for the ceremony tomorrow.”  

“Nice one.”

“We’ll see what happens. Maybe if the fates are kind she’ll let me style her hair, who knows. I’d better get going actually, I said I’d meet her at ten.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway, for listening and stuff.”

“No problemo, Tennie.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?” Nette grinned. “You call me Netsie, it’s about time you got a terrible nickname.”

“You’re too kind,” He said dryly, sitting up so she could leave. “Have fun, try not to strangle each other with dresses.”

“Ha. See you later.”

He waved as she left, settling back into the couch to think some more. Nette met up with Hildegarde a little while later and couldn’t help but notice a certain nervous tension her lab partner was exuding as they sat on the shuttle train into the middle of Hong Kong.

 

“Are you okay?” Nette asked quietly once the people sitting nearby had all got off. She reached out and lightly rested her hand on Hildegarde’s, frowning in concern.

“I’m fine,” Hildegarde said tightly, but curled her fingers around Nette’s regardless, holding on just a little too tightly to be completely casual. “This will be fun.”

It was right then that Nette began to have second thoughts about this outing. “We don’t have to go shopping if you don’t want to. Is it crowds? I don’t like crowds very much, I wouldn’t blame you. The shops shouldn’t be too busy though, this early in the morning.”

“I don’t enjoy having to fight through crowds, no,” Hildegarde admitted, her grip tightening on both Nette’s hand and her cane. “People seldom make allowance for walking apparatus. I can’t count the number of times my cane has been accidentally kicked out or my feet have been trampled.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Nette said, lightly brushing her thumb over Hildegarde’s hand. “I’ll walk on that side if you want, to stop people kicking your cane.”

“Mmn.”

Hildegarde’s guts were roiling, threatening to bring her breakfast up again for an encore. She couldn’t say to Nette exactly why she was so anxious about this trip, not having the words herself. All she knew was that this would be incredibly unpleasant and she didn’t want to seem weak or vulnerable. The mixture of swallowing the anxiety that clawed at her throat and pushing away the dread that clenched her back and shoulders like a vise was already making her shake. She was surprised Nette couldn’t feel her hand trembling – oh, but it wasn’t. She took a careful deep breath and focussed on the feeling of Nette’s small, warm hand enclosing her own, a firm and gentle pressure on her skin. She imagined the calm of that touch spreading up her arm and into her chest, slowly calming herself down.

She couldn’t remember exactly when holding hands like this had become so ordinary. Usually Hildegarde was careful to avoid physical contact with other people, as she found it distracting and confusing; she could never tell what people meant by it, and she was far too used to people laying ‘sympathetic’ hands on her shoulders, probably attempting to show their support but only succeeding in making her feel ashamed for obviously needing comforting, for not hiding her discomfort and distress well enough. Over-enthusiastic huggers were one of the many banes of her existence. But at some point in the last few months, she had become more accustomed to Nette’s much more tactile approach to everything. Hildegarde thought it had probably started sometime in May, after the Hansens had left. Nette’s downswing had hit particularly hard at the same time as Hildegarde became overwhelmed by her depression; they had been almost non-functional for that hazy week-or-more, capable of little other than sleeping and being in the same room as each other and occasionally Tendo. Hildegarde remembered at the lowest point, when Nette was curled up into a ball scream-sobbing into a pillow and she herself had been sunk in a pit of despair, dangerous thoughts circling ever more real and those old, destructive urges whispering with increasing intensity… she had felt the familiar urge for something sharp, some sort of release, and had reached out, convinced her hand would find what she needed, but had instead landed on Nette. They had reached out for each other and clung to each other’s hand, trying desperately to find comfort and distraction from the awful agony of their brains. They had clung as if to let go would kill them both, unable to separate their clenching, bone-white fingers and palms, hanging on to the only person who could understand.

For hours they had sat like that, slumped against each other, muscles shaking with the strength in their arms, clinging for dear life and riding out the storm together, their only anchoring point the other’s hand. For some days after that lowest point, Hildegarde had only felt the urges receding and a fragile sense of safety when she was holding Nette’s hand. Although they had never discussed it, Hildegarde had known in a temporary unity born of shared pain, that Nette had felt much the same. After that, when one was feeling shaky or unstable, a simple touch of hands would help. Sometimes Hildegarde found herself reaching out without thinking when Nette wasn’t even there, a need becoming increasingly, alarming strong.

Dependence was dangerous, even on a simple touch, and Hildegarde had spent her entire life avoiding becoming dependent on another. Even still, she couldn’t bear to let go of Nette’s hand as they sat on the train, speeding closer to the central shopping area with her insides threatening to fold into knots.

“It’ll be alright, I’m here.” Nette said quietly, just for Hildegarde’s ears. Hildegarde nodded and concentrated on her breathing and the steadying influence of Nette’s hand. “We don’t have to do this, it’s just clothes.”

“No, you were right.” Hildegarde replied in a measured voice. “I do need at least one more smart outfit for the ceremony. My current wardrobe is not suitable.”

“Ha, punny.”

“What?”

“Oh. Never mind,” Nette smiled and squeezed her hand. “We’re nearly there anyway. Are you going to trust my fashion judgment?”

Hildegarde glanced sideways at Nette’s outfit of the day – as they weren’t technically working today, she had opted for a much more casual look but no less eye-catching. Her makeup was the same, perhaps even a little more vivid and with thicker lines on her eyes. Her outfit consisted of two loose tank tops layered over each other and tucked into high-waisted shorts that barely extended to her neon-violet thighs, with a pair of truly fearsome-looking army-issue boots. It showed off her tattoos and figure very well, making Hildegarde’s stomach feel tight and uncomfortable. She looked away. Although the outfit was not to her personal taste, it certainly suited Nette and looked very good on her. She nodded, making Nette smile.

“Don’t worry, I know this isn’t your look. We’ll find something for you, okay?” Nette squeezed her hand gently, feeling Hildegarde relax a little more though she was still rather tense and uncomfortable-looking. As they walked from the station to the main shopping area, Nette walked on her cane-side to protect it from accidental kicks, but noticed Hildegarde was clutching her other sleeve tightly, making Nette wonder if she should switch sides to hold her hand. Before she could ask, however, they had found a reasonably sized department store. As Nette had predicted, it wasn’t bustling-busy, though in a city this populated it couldn’t be empty. They headed to the formalwear section and Nette watched as Hildegarde’s attention immediately turned to the ‘mature’ section, ignoring the more fashionable selections.

“Hildegarde,” Nette called. She turned around and Nette saw the uncomfortable look on her face before she wiped her expression clean, walking back to join Nette.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s hard to change habits. What do you think of this?” Nette asked, holding up a jacket of a creamy beige with a much more flattering empire line and cut. Hildegarde made a noncommittal noise, eyeing the pale blue trim at the hems and cuffs. “How about I pick some things out, and you can try them on after we’ve got a few?” Hildegarde nodded again, holding her cane tightly.

Nette spent the next half hour walking around the section with Hildegarde in quiet tow, picking out shirts, skirt, trousers and jackets she thought would look more flattering for Hildegarde’s body type. She managed to stop herself picking out the bolder colors, knowing Hildegarde would refuse. She noticed Hildegarde’s unease and asked several times whether Hildegarde still wanted to do this, but as Hildegarde always insisted things were fine, Nette collected the clothes over her arm with an increasing dubious feeling.

Hildegarde abruptly found herself in a changing room, all the clothes Nette had so carefully selected hanging up next to the mirror. She drew the curtain closed, hearing Nette lean against the wall outside, and contemplated her appearance. She looked pale and clammy, distinctly unsettled. _Deep breaths_ , she told herself. _Just try them on. You never know, they could be perfect. Just try them on at least. You don’t have to buy any of them._

Nette had organised everything into distinct outfits and Hildegarde looked between them as she undressed, avoiding her own reflection. Once she was standing in her under-slip, she selected the outfit she felt most comfortable looking at, a simple skirt suit in a palette of creams and browns. The colours were softer than she was used to, more pale and delicate-looking. More feminine than the dark, artificial, heavy shades she normally wore. _The skirt is alright_ , she thought. She smoothed it down over her hips, anxiety bubbling at the unfamiliar tightness around her hips and upper thighs. It was higher-waisted than she was used to, and clung there before loosening a little, falling straight to her knee, much different to the utilitarian long, shin-length skirts she was used to. The hemline was perhaps three centimetres above the knee, showing the joint and just a bit of thigh. That was unusual, but it didn’t look too bad, she mused. She felt a little uncomfortable at showing more of her legs, but when she turned she saw that it was more flattering. Although her backside and thighs were more visible, the lack of looseness prevented that… vagueness that always made her figure look larger than it actually was. _This is okay_ , she told herself firmly as she took deep breaths. _Now the shirt._

The blouse was a billowy thing, with a bit of a ruffle. The fabric was soft and slippery, difficult to hold onto. The cuffs were tight around her wrists, but the arms were loose and comfortable. She buttoned it up to her neck, pursing her lips at the formless, floppy collar. There was a slight design going down the centre, a light chocolate-y pattern following the round, fabric-covered buttons. She eyed herself in the mirror with growing anxiety; the cut of the shirt was obviously meant to enhance the bust and draw attention away from the stomach. The focus of anyone looking at her would immediately be her chest.

“Try tucking the blouses into the skirts,” Nette said on the other side of the curtain, making her jump. She did so and looked at herself with shaking hands; she couldn’t help but look at the gut-bulge this tucking showed, the exact shape of her stomach and abdomen exposed. Her chest was in prominence, and she felt uncomfortably aware of the shape of her silhouette without any padding to disguise it. It was a very _feminine_ outfit, designed to show the bust and hips rather than stomach, to use the curves there to balance the natural bulging at her midsection. It was soft and delicate and pretty and she could hardly believe it was her reflection. She looked down at herself, fighting to keep her breathing even. She looked _feminine_ and girly and her body shape was exposed, nowhere to hide, nothing to conceal, proclaiming her sex to anyone looking. She clamped a hand over her mouth as a sob threatened.

“How are you doing in there?”

Hildegarde said nothing, fighting to quell the dread, anxiety and sense of inescapable wrongness growing with each second she looked in the mirror.

“Is it okay if I come in?”

After a moment, Nette cautiously peeked through the curtain. “Are you okay?”

Hildegarde nodded stiffly, staring at herself in the mirror, determined not to give away her distress. “I’m fine.”

“Can I tweak something?” Nette said, watching her expression carefully. “The neckline would be more flattering if you unbuttoned the collar a bit, it’s not actually supposed to be done up that high.”

Hildegarde fumbled the top two buttons open, showing her collarbone. This time the deep breaths she took were clearly audible and ragged. Immediately Nette’s hand was holding hers, a reassuring pressure. “What’s wrong?”

Hildegarde clamped her jaw tightly and shook her head from side to side, her breath coming fast in her suddenly-tight chest, gushing unevenly in and out of her lungs, her diaphragm jumping and flipping.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I’m right here. You’re safe, everything’s okay. Look at me, okay? That’s it, you’re doing great. Small breaths, that’s it, just in and out. Try counting them, making them the same. Oh well done, that’s really good, keep going.” Nette said in a soft, reassuring voice, holding both of Hildegarde’s hands and smiling gently, holding her gaze with a calm certainty only tinged a little with obvious worry. “There we go, it’ll pass, it’s going away already. You’re doing so well, great job. Just small breaths, the tightness will go away soon enough. It’ll wash away like sand on the beach, it’s alright.”

Hildegarde felt the overwhelming anxiety and dread starting to abate, retreating from Nette’s warm hands and calm voice, pushed back by the slow steadying of her breathing. It slowly faded back to a low murmur. She kept facing resolutely away from the mirror, looking only at Nette; idly her eyes tracked a tentacle tattoo creeping over Nette’s shoulder, curling around her collarbone. She focused on the detail of the ink until the dread and horror of her thoughts had faded too.

“There we go, really well done. Are you feeling okay, steady on your feet? Here in the moment?”

Hildegarde nodded slowly and forced herself to loosen her grip; she could see Nette’s skin was pale from her crushing grip, though Nette made no mention.

“Can you say what made you panic? It’s okay, take it slowly. Is it the clothes?”

Hildegarde nodded again, unable to find her voice. She glanced at herself in the mirror and the god-awful feeling of **_WRONG!_** hit her again, a sob rising up in her throat before she could swallow it, a pathetic, terrified noise that poured shame over her like hot glue, suffocating and burning and unbearable.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay, face me, it’s alright. You’re perfectly safe, right here with me. Right here, with me. It’s alright.” Nette soothed. She grabbed Hildegarde’s jacket, the one she had worn to the store, and put it around her shoulders. “It’s alright, focus on your breathing again.”

It was some time before she was calm again, and her head pounded with what was already becoming an awful headache. She felt weak, washed out, like her senses were muffled from the intensity of what she had felt. Her thinking was slow and sluggish.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled when she was able, the crushing dread around her throat relaxed just a bit.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Nette said firmly. “I’m sorry this happened, I had no idea this would be so upsetting for you. I’m really, really sorry. Do you feel able to talk about it? Is there anything I can do?”

Hildegarde looked at the clothes hanging up, each progressively more feminine and shape-hugging than the last. “Please take them away,” She said, voice tight and strained. “I don’t… I can’t, I’m not… please.”

“Okay, no problem. I’ll give them to the shop assistant. I’ll be right back, okay? Just wait in here a few minutes.” Nette took the outfits quickly and dashed from the cubicle, whisking them out of sight but sadly, not out of mind.

Hildegarde sank down on the bench in the cubicle next to her clothes. She focused on her breathing and mentally recited as many basic mathematical proofs as she could think of, using the order to push away the rush of emotions and memories that threatened to overwhelm her every time she looked at what she was wearing.

 _Look at her! Oh wow, does she think she looks good in that?_ No, no… _The exponential function y equals e to the power of x grows rapidly as r … Such a poor excuse of a girl, who does she think she’s fooling? Do you see her hair?_ Memories of high, cruel laughter warred with the sonorous sound of her calculus professor’s voice, droning out the wonders of the universe like he had no idea of their importance. Shame and humiliation threatened to spill over her, and she forced her thoughts to remember what she had written on her chalkboards the previous day, reconstructing her thinking.

She pressed her hands to her face. _No, no. I’m alright. Don’t freak out again. You just don’t look good in these things, that’s all._ The creeping thought, however, that she felt so wrong in those clothes because she wasn’t supposed to wear them, circled around, whispering to her subconscious as it had for years. _You don’t feel good in these clothes because they’re a lie_ , it whispered, a mixture of liberation and terror. _You’re different, you’re abnormal. You’re not a woman, you just look like one. You’re not a real woman, and you could never pass as anything else. You look too much like a woman. Cover your feminine bits, mask yourself. You’re wrong, these clothes are wrong, they make you look like what you’re not._

She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the thought, pushing away how true it felt and the terror that truth could mean. _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _Just calm down, think of something to say to Nette. Where is she anyway?_

Nette sure was taking her time returning the clothes. It was about another ten minutes before she returned, and she had more clothes over her arm.

“Hey,” She said with a smile. “I thought these might be better. What do you think?”

She held up the first collection of hangers and Hildegarde felt her heart stutter. It was a man’s blazer and trousers, with a shirt rather similar to one she had in her wardrobe, with a camouflaging and concealing flounciness.

“There’s this too.” Nette held up a sports bra in her other hand. “I had to guess your size, but I think it would fit.” She looked between Hildegarde and the clothes, waiting nervously for her reaction.

After a few moments, Hildegarde stood and took the clothes. Nette closed the curtain behind her and waited. Once she had changed into the clothes, Hildegarde chanced looking at herself in the mirror. Tears came to her eyes but refused to fall. Although her hands shook, there was a sort of warmth slowly threading through her. The outfit was oddly _neutral_ , treading the line between overly masculine or feminine and providing concealment of her more feminine attributes, aided by the compression of the sports bra. Looking at herself, she thought she looked, for the first time in her life, _ambiguous_. Enough masculinity to question the automatic assumption of female-ness, but without tipping over the balance. And it felt real, like honesty. _Right. Correct._

 _I could be this,_ she thought. _If I’m not… if I can’t be female… I could be this. This is good._ For the first time since she was a young child, she was looking at herself in the mirror and didn’t feel wrong, bad, like she was lying, or dressing up in someone else’s clothes. It felt undeniably correct, like a slot perfectly filled. Her back straightened and she stepped closer to the mirror, touching the reflection.

“Can I come in?” Nette asked. Hildegarde made an affirmative noise and she heard the curtain drawing back, then forth again as Nette stepped inside. “How does it feel now?”

“Better. Good,” Hildegarde whispered. Her eyes met Nette’s in the mirror. “How did you…?”

“Call it an inspired guess,” Nette smiled, a mixture of pride and affection in her expression as she looked at Hildegarde. “Do you like it?”

Hildegarde nodded. There was a tentative hope creeping through her, and thoughts without words were rushing through her head faster than she could process. She bit her lip, a sudden formless doubt clutching her throat. Nette stepped closer and gently took her hand. “You can wear this, you know. You’re allowed, it’s okay. If this is how you feel most comfortable, the most yourself, this is what you can wear. You have permission, it’s okay.”

“How…?” She said again, words slow to come.

Nette just smiled and squeezed her hand. They stood there for some time, Hildegarde trying to absorb and process all the thoughts and feelings surging through her, the only constant a growing feeling of _rightness_ and something like hope. Eventually they left the store, Hildegarde carrying a large bag containing the pant suit, some other similar items, and the brown skirt she had tried on first. They spent the rest of the day finding similar clothes and some new shoes before heading back on the train.

After passing through the security checks for the Shatterdome, Nette noticed that Hildegarde was limping, her face set in a grimace of pain. _Too much walking,_ she thought belatedly. They walked to Hildegarde’s room and Nette fetched the icepack and started boiling the tiny kettle on the travel stove for a hot water bottle as Hildegarde levered herself down onto the bed with a hiss of pain. Nette passed her the ice and bottle when they were ready and sat down at the end of the bed, taking off her shoes and curling her legs under her. Without saying anything, Hildegarde fetched her cards and for a little while they played in silence, letting the events of the day settle into still calmness.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been comfortable in my own skin,” Hildegarde said after some time, voice steady. She sounded detached, like she had prepared a speech on the train. “Even before I started to be bullied, I never felt comfortable in girl clothes, or boy clothes. They both felt wrong. Then as I got older, the bullying got much worse. I’ve never been able to separate what I went through with how I see myself.” Their hands sought each other again, as if being separated were the unusual thing. “I could never be _girly_ the way I was supposed to, and I couldn’t act like a boy. I don’t know what I am or what really happened today, but…” Nette saw Hildegarde’s eyes become shiny with unshed tears and squeezed her hands. “Today it felt _right_. I’ve never felt like that before, never.”

“It’s okay,” Nette said gently. “It’s all okay, Hil. You are yourself, and whatever labels you feel are right _are_ the right ones. You’re just yourself, and you don’t need to justify anything to anyone.”

Hildegarde bit her lip and nodded. The nickname felt like a drop of warmth and affection, reassurance of acceptance and understanding she could never summon for herself. For once, she didn’t object to the familiarity.

“I don’t have any ideas as to what’s going on with me,” She admitted in a rush, cheeks flaming but an irresistible force pushing her on. “I prefer not to think about it. I don’t know what I am or what all this means. But thank you, for doing what you did. Perhaps I can think about it now.”

Nette settled closer and took Hildegarde’s hands more firmly, feeling tears start in her own eyes. “You’re yourself, in all the entirety of what that means, and that is perfectly okay. I feel privileged beyond words to have helped in any way.”

Hildegarde took a deep, shaky breath and leaned hesitantly into Nette, their shoulders and legs supporting each other as the tide of emotions washed through her; the contact was stability and reassurance after a very hard day.

“It’s all okay. You’re not alone.”

 

**August 10 th “K-Day” 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome And City**

“We stand here today, on the mark of seven years since our world changed forever. We stand together, fighting against the forces which threaten us. We stand here, burning with life and purpose when so many of our loved ones have been forced from us.” Pentecost’s deep voice rang clearly across the Shatterdome floor without the need for amplification, everyone in the room solemnly fixed on his words. “We stand here, battered and bruised and tired, and still standing. With every anniversary of this day, our determination only grows. As we stand here, we say no more! We say no more fear of what these creatures can do. We say we will keep standing here, year after year, until we have found a way. We stand now, and we will always stand!” His voice rose to a stern shout, ringing out with fierce determination. “We keep standing!”

“We keep standing!” The room roared back. Pentecost looked over the sea of personnel and nodded, approving them. Alone on the platform, he cut an intimidating figure. Statuesque and exuding a palpable sense of determination and responsibility, everything about him neat and precise, he was the kind of leader everyone, even the cynics, could be inspired by. The one fixed point in their chaotic scramble to outpace the Kaiju, unwavering and unflinching.

Nette looked around; on one side was Tendo, holding Alison’s hand tightly with a tense set to his body that spoke volumes of his grief, reawakened every K-Day. She reached out and gently squeezed his wrist, giving him wordless support. On her other side was Hildegarde, also tense but for rather different reasons. She was wearing the suit they had bought two days previously, for the first time. She seemed comfortable in herself, though conscious of what other people might be thinking. Nette had mentioned to Tendo that Hildegarde was going to dress differently today and to be kind and careful, so he’d been able to greet her casually, without raising any fuss. She had seemed immensely more relaxed by that and Nette had seen how her face had lit up at not being treated like this was an odd thing. Nette had helped her dress that morning, when Hildegarde had said she wanted to try dressing that way, and had seen how truly nervous Hildegarde was about presenting like this. She had never dared to wear anything like this, she had said, outside her own room, and it had never felt so comfortable. She had said she wanted to feel what it was like to be comfortable in what she was wearing around other people for once.

So far, it seemed to be going well. Nette brushed her hand, earning a faint smile and a squeeze of her fingers. “Okay?” She murmured. Hildegarde nodded and readjusted her grip on her cane as the crowd began walking towards the exit, to the shuttle buses that would take them to the remembrance ceremony in the city centre.

The city ceremony was more sombre, focused more on remembering the losses over the years. Try as he might, the official just couldn’t inject the sort of fierce determination in carrying on that Pentecost had roused. The PPDC was mentioned of course, the Jaegar pilots damned with faint praise for doing all they could.

Hildegarde looked around as the crowds began to disperse. The mood was curiously split – people who seemed to be grieving and sober, and those filled with a sort of desperation at this reminder of their perilous, fragile safety here on the Pacific rim that could be dashed with a single emergence through the Breach. These people seemed like they intended to live these moments as fully as they could. Probably to go and consume unwise amounts of alcohol and make poorly rationalised decisions, Hildegarde mused.

“Hey, us lot are going to a bar for a bit,” Nette said, making Hildegarde’s lips twitch. “Want to come along?”

Hildegarde was about to decline, say something about getting back to work, but hesitated. In her new clothes, her more ambiguous appearance, she felt curiously confident (if still a little nervous). And she wanted to spend more time with Nette, she realised. If anything, the events of their shopping day had made it clearer to Hildegarde that she did now depend on Nette for at least some comfort, and that she relished their closeness now that they had moved past their rash words and hurt feelings. The casual friendship and closeness had become even dearer to her now than the perceived closeness from their emails, Hildegarde had realised. Put quite simply, she had never had a friend like Nette before, and she wanted to spend more time with her outside of the lab.

“Alright,” Hildegarde agreed after a moment. “I’ll come with you for a while.”

Nette beamed and linked their arms. “Great! Tendo, lead the way.”

Soon they were ensconced in a surprisingly cosy bar, in one of the side-areas that was away from the main bar, but not cut off from it or completely enclosed. The chairs and settees were arranged in loose formations, and soon were being filled to capacity by the Shatterdome employees. Hildegarde settled herself on a couch where she’d be unlikely to trip anyone with her cane and where she could observe what was going on. She watched the seats fill as Nette went to the bar to order the first round; she was surprised to see Pentecost had joined them, though he sat across the room in serious conversation with Herc Hansen, who had flown out a few days previously to check on the steady transfer of resources to Hong Kong. She noticed that Pentecost seemed more relaxed than usual, less formal, though she doubted he could ever seem inattentive. She supposed that outside of the Shatterdome, he would of course need to relax as well. It had never really occurred to her, what Pentecost would be like outside of work. Rather foolishly, like a child thinking her teachers slept at the school, she mused.

She watched as he and Herc talked, leaning close together and trading small smiles. She looked away as Nette returned with drinks for them, Tendo and Alison. She didn’t drink very often, and she found the alcohol hitting her perhaps earlier than it would have otherwise, making her feel relaxed and less tense. She watched as the bar filled up with PPDC personnel and citizens, all looking to chase away the gloom of the reminder of their flimsy safety and embrace the passions of the moment. At some point she realised she was having a conversation with a technician – one of Tendo’s co-workers? – about something that she definitely could not remember, making her way through the conversation on pure generalities and sounding as if she knew what she was talking about. Instead of making her tense, it just seemed funny, and she found herself smiling as she talked with this stranger.

The day wore on into evening, and while the initial buzz of the alcohol had long worn off by then, the pleasant relaxation it had given her remained. Hildegarde watched as the bar became noisier, the people more drunk. She watched as a sober Pentecost escorted a staggering Herc back to base and people in various states of drunkenness began flirting with each other. She started a conversation with Nette that had originally begun on a book series they both enjoyed and soon ranged far and wide into the realms of music, pop culture, the relative merits of various internet networking sites, whether string theory was really all it was cracked up to be, favourite snacks and little stories from home. They talked for hours, laughing and debating together. As they chatted, Hildegarde felt a lightness within herself, an anticipation and true enjoyment she hadn’t felt in some time as she watched Nette talk. She smiled happily, content to listen to Nette talk at length without interruption for once, watching the animation and excitement on her friend’s face as she held forth on the intricacies of cooking something or other, Hildegarde had missed exactly what.

She watched Nette’s hands gesture, her eyes shine, her makeup becoming just slightly smudged but no less striking. She watched the movement of her body and the excitement and joy that suffused through her with every point she made. So vibrantly, exuberantly, wonderfully _alive_ in the moment.

So beautiful. The thought came quite unbidden but without the rush of anxiety Hildegarde had been expecting. She examined the thought – where was the usual uneasiness? After some minutes, the answer came. She normally associated those sort of thoughts, of how attractive Nette was, with memories of girls like her, the girls who had been so vapid and ready to judge. Who had seemed only concerned with their looks and so ready to tear down everyone else to put themselves higher by comparison. But now, after what they had been through together, Hildegarde found she was able to just see Nette as she _was_ , not how Hildegarde imagined her.

And what she saw was beautiful.

She remembered the eagerness with which Nette dissected her samples, the delicacy of her investigation, the rigour of her thought. She remembered the pace at which she thought and argued and processed information, a terrifyingly quick and abstract way of thinking that formed new ideas and unusual connections in a way Hildegarde couldn’t hope to emulate or understand. She thought of the attention Nette paid to her work and the startling perception she leveled on Hildegarde on occasion. The way she seemed attuned to how others were feeling, instinctively reacting to little signals that Hildegarde only picked up much later, too caught up in her own thinking to see in time. The way she would reach out to Hildegarde, at first by email as a friendly colleague, and now as a friend determined to show Hildegarde that she wasn’t alone in her problems, and that there was at least one person who understood. She remembered the vulnerability when she was in the grip of her disorders, how desperately she needed the support of a friend, the gratefulness in a simple presence and the closeness that had sprung up between them, born from hours of shared pain and many more hours of working together, simply inhabiting the same space. Her strength, standing up for herself when Hildegarde questioned her or leering men tried to devour her with their eyes, puncturing their overinflated egos with an arched eyebrow and a scathing word. The way she seemed to know at least a flavour of the struggles Hildegarde was going through without needing any words, simply understanding what was needed and doing what she could to help. Her assurances that Hildegarde was fine just the way she was, whatever that might be. Not trying to change her or force her to conform to anything (aside from perhaps a more reasonable lab partner), simply being there for her as she tried to figure what was going on.

Hildegarde swallowed thickly, a rapid up-swell of emotion choking her for a moment. She was suddenly acutely aware of how lucky she was to have made Nette’s acquaintance and to have such a close friendship with her, flaws and annoyances and little idiosyncrasies all.

Nette was beautiful in more ways than Hildegarde could say, and she could admit it to herself.

“Hildegarde? You okay?” Nette grinned, casually resting her hand on Hildegarde’s arm.

“Sorry, pardon?”

“You looked a bit spaced out there. Like, staring kinda into space for a while.”

“Oh.” Hildegarde felt a flush creeping up her neck and sipped her cola. “Sorry. I’m just tired, I suppose. What were you saying?”

Nette smiled and carried on, leaving her hand there, a warm weight anchoring Hildegarde there with casual familiarity and affection. Hildegarde could admit, in the quiet of her mind amid the frantic noise of the bar, that Nette was gorgeous, and she felt a yearning towards her. She wasn’t sure precisely what she was yearning for, but that the thought of their friendship being broken now was immensely painful.

 _I want to be near her, to be her friend_ , she thought, letting Nette’s words wash over her and keeping only the humour and warmth in her tone. _I want to spend time with her. I want this feeling, the happiness and security and surety that she thinks affectionately of me. I want the bubbly excitement and calm stillness from holding her hand. I want the casual touches to mean something more. I want her affection, her regard._

She took another gulp of her drink, trying to hold onto her calm as she worked through those thoughts. _It’s alright, just think it though. Rational, logical._ That was the issue, however. There were few things as illogical and subjective as feelings, and Hildegarde had never been particularly adept at parsing anything other than mathematical intricacies.

“I’ll just, ah, excuse me,” She said, anxiety starting to bubble up in her throat. “Bathroom.”

“Oh!” Nette laughed. She moved her legs so Hildegarde could move past her, smiling up at her. Hildegarde moved through the drunken press, forcing her way through to the bathroom. Just occasionally, her cane came in handy. She relished the cool quiet of the bathroom, alone in her stall. For perhaps ten minutes she sat there in silence, working through her thoughts and trying to analyse, categorise the feelings they prompted, reasoning that the more she understood what was going on, the easier it would be to deal with.

 _So_ , she thought. _I want a more intimate relationship with Nette_. _Oh God._

She heard the door open and a pair of boots clomp into the room. “Hildegarde? Are you still in here?”

_Well damn._

“Yes. I’m alright, my leg is just sore.”

“Oh, good. I mean, not good that your leg’s hurting. Just. You know what I mean. Oh shit, my eyeliner’s gone all over the place, why didn’t you tell me?” Nette laughed.

“I didn’t want to interrupt our conversation for something so small.”

“Mmhmm. See I’d believe that but you’ve been spacing out for hours. I don’t really mind, you looked happy, but you haven’t really been paying attention very much.”

_I’ve paid more attention than you think. Oh, damn._

“Sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Nette replied amiably. “Are you doing okay, by the way? With the clothes and things?”

Hildegarde started; she’d almost forgotten about that particular worry, she had been so preoccupied with her thoughts of Nette. Examining her feelings, she found a sense of comfortable rightness that felt almost as wonderful as being able to admit to herself, without judgment, what she was really feeling about Nette.

“Yes,” Hildegarde replied. “Today has been… much better than I thought it would be, considering. I feel good.”

“That’s great,” Nette enthused and Hildegarde could imagine her smile vividly, the crinkles at the corners of her mouth and the stretching of her lipstick, eyes creasing up.

_Oh, God. Oh damn._

She stood, flushed the toilet for appearance’s sake and left the stall. As she washed her hands she watched Nette touching up her makeup in the mirror, her expression intent as she carefully removed and reapplied liquid eyeliner in bold, sweeping lines or wings or whatever the proper term was. She looked back to her own reflection and was pleasantly surprised. She looked neither overtly feminine nor masculine, but in some ambiguous middle ground. Just right. Hildegarde smiled tentatively at her own reflection and caught Nette’s eyes on her via the mirror.

“What is it?”

“You just…” Nette smiled, her lipstick creasing just as Hildegarde had imagined, still-wet eyeliner crinkling and smudging though she didn’t notice. “You rarely look that happy. It’s lovely to see. You really do look amazing, you know.”

Hildegarde saw colour rising in Nette’s cheeks before she looked away, back to her makeup. Hildegarde felt her heart thumping in her throat beating too fast. Her thoughts had slammed to a stop and there was just one thing on her mind.

_Beautiful._

“Nette,” She managed, stepping closer with her heart going wild in her chest, thrashing in mingled anxiety and excitement, knowing what she was going to do before her brain had caught up. Nette turned and that was it. Decision made. Hildegarde’s hand rose as if already following instruction to hold Nette’s chin and _ohh_

_That’s what lipstick feels like_

_Oh God_

Warmth and breath and sweetness and the heat of Nette’s body mere millimetres away, the sliver of air between them charged hot and electric as their lips slowly pressed together, erasing all thought.

Then more pressure, a little wetness, and suddenly a warm hand on her waist, a quiet noise and a burning touch even through fabric and Hildegarde’s eyes flew open, shocked back into thought. She stumbled backwards, panic and a welter of confusing impressions rushing through her. Nette looked back at her, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, lips parted with the redness just a little smudged and _oh God did that just happen?_

“I’m sorry,” Hildegarde whispered, feeling her hands beginning to shake. She saw the hurt flash onto Nette’s face but couldn’t stay, too consumed with the urge to flee, get away, get some space to think. She fought through the crush of drunken revelers, fighting through to the street and flagging down a cab to get to the train station, rubbing lipstick off her mouth with a shaking hand.

Her phone buzzed.

_New Msg (1)_

Her heart hammering, she clicked the _‘Open’_ option.

_From: Nette_

_What?? Why did you just leave? Are you okay? What the hell?_

Hildegarde clenched her jaw and rubbed the tackiness of the lipstick between her fingers, a reminder that yes, that had indeed just happened. Her hand shook as she typed a reply.

                _To: Nette_

_I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry. I’m sorry._

_Send Msg?_

_Msg Sent_

She put her phone away and put a hand over her mouth as a sob threatened. She didn’t know what she was feeling but it was all too much and too confusing and all that seemed right was the urge to curl up in bed and never leave.

When she was on the train, her phone buzzed again.

_New Msg (2)_

_From: Nette_

_Don’t be sorry. I’m not mad I’m surprised. And kinda hurt you ran off._

_From: Nette_

_Where are you?_

Hildegarde tapped a reply.

                _To: Nette_

_I’m sorry. I’m heading back to the dome. Going to bed. I’m so sorry. Please forget it happened._

_New Msg (1)_

_From: Nette_

_Ok, be safe on the train. Can we talk about this at all? Please?_

_To: Nette_

_I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m so sorry._

_From: Nette_

_It’ll be okay, Hil. I’m not mad, just concerned about you. Have a good rest, ok? We can talk later._

_To: Nette_

_Ok._

Hildegarde stumbled through her door at the Shatterdome about half an hour later, closing it behind her as the sobs broke free, tearing from her throat and scalding down her cheeks. She fumbled off her clothes and curled up in bed, trying to hold onto any vestige of calm as her emotions went haywire. She finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, much later.

**August 11 th 2020 – Hong Kong Shatterdome**

Hildegarde had spent the morning sitting in bed, sipping water and trying to restore some sort of order to her thought processes. She didn’t worry about not going to the lab as it had seemed like the entirety of the Shatterdome had attempted to get alcohol poisoning the previous night, and she doubted there would be anyone actually working, aside from perhaps Pentecost. She spent the quiet time reliving the previous night and trying to analyse the feelings it inspired, before becoming overwhelmed and having to step back from her thoughts for a while. She hadn’t had any more messages from Nette but knew that she would want to talk about what had happened sooner or later.

That particular conversation happened sometime after lunch, with a muffled knocking. She opened it and found Nette, dressed much more casually than usual. As she stepped inside with a quiet “Hey,” Hildegarde was abruptly reminded of the first bipolar episode Nette had experienced at the Shatterdome, when an exhausted Tendo had brought a disheveled Nette to Hildegarde for care. That time had brought them closer to understanding each other, and closer to the friendship they now shared. Hildegarde took a deep breath. Hopefully this time they would emerge from this room closer again, rather than pushed far apart.

They sat down on the bed in silence for a few minutes. Nette watched Hildegarde patiently, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

“I’m sorry for what happened last night,” Hildegarde began, avoiding Nette’s eyes.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” Nette asked quietly, her hand twitching as if she wanted to hold Hildegarde’s hand but was afraid of being rebuffed.

“I pushed myself on you,” Hildegarde answered as if it was obvious.

“Yeah, that was a bit surprising. I had time to move away though, and I could have very easily stopped the kiss. It’s okay, Hildegarde. You know I’ve had same-gender relationships, right? That didn’t get lost in translation or something?” Nette smiled.

“Oh, no I was aware, you mentioned girlfriends in your emails,” Hildegarde said quickly. “It wasn’t that. I just… I’m sorry.”

Nette reached out and very lightly curled her fingers around Hildegarde’s, smiling when the gentle pressure was returned. “It’s okay, Hildegarde. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all. What’s really going on?”

Hildegarde took some more deep breaths. “I’m sorry because I feel ashamed and guilty. I know that I feel something for you, but I’m not sure what that is precisely. I feel guilty and conflicted because it was something I wanted to do but I have no idea what it means and I think that it just complicated things even further.” Hildegarde said in a rush, her cheeks reddening. Although the shame and embarrassment was clawing at the edges of her attention, waiting to overwhelm her, the sheer relief at being able to express, even so awkwardly and imperfectly, what had been churning away in the back of her brain for months now was able to keep it back.

“Okay,” Nette said after a few moments. “Well, let’s air this out as much as we can. I care a great deal for you, Hildegarde. I respect you and your work so much, it’s a real joy to work with you. I care about you so much as a friend, and I think there’s something else as well. There’s something here. Yeah?”

Hildegarde nodded, a little rush of warmth in her chest at Nette’s admission. “Yes, there is something, ah, here.” She gestured between them, feeling vaguely silly.

Nette smiled. “I’d like very much to be in a relationship with you, Hildegarde. I don’t want to pressure you or panic you with what that means, I know this is all very new for you.”

“Mm.” Hildegarde nodded, taking steadying breaths and holding onto Nette’s hand more tightly. “I was aware I’ve had… feelings… about other women for years, but I never… it wasn’t something I wanted to think about, I never wanted to acknowledge it.”

Nette squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“The thought of a relationship….” Hildegarde swallowed and forced herself to carry on, ignoring the heat of her cheeks and the anxiety swirling around her head. “It honestly scares me. I think I would like to try, but…”

“But?” Nette said quietly, intently.

Hildegarde looked down at their hands, steadying herself before she could go on. “There is too much I am unsure about. I am not sure whether what happened – whether I kissed you because I have romantic feelings for you, or because I was feeling so overwhelmed by your kindness and friendship and didn’t know how to express that, especially in light of what’s happened and come to the surface this week. I don’t want to rush into anything, especially not something this important. I’m barely discovering who I am. I feel that I need to know myself before I can share myself with someone else like that. And besides, Tendo.”

Nette nodded and bit her lip, her eyes turning liquid as she listened. “Okay,” She replied eventually, her voice a little thick and unsteady. “Okay. Thank you for being honest with me. I think that’s very sensible.”

“I’m sorry,” Hildegarde said in a strained voice, clinging to her hands. “I didn’t know you felt like… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Nette said, forcing herself to smile even as her eyes spilled over. “It makes sense for you to figure yourself out. I’m happy for you.”

Hildegarde rubbed her thumbs over the backs of Nette’s hands, feeling wretched and blind.

“I…” She gathered her courage for one last admission. “I enjoy our relationship as it is. I… I love that we are close like this. I don’t want our relationship to distance. I care about you a great deal, and…” She faltered, unable to bear the sight of Nette’s tears. She reached up and gently wiped away the wetness, fingers trembling a little as they smoothed over Nette’s cheeks. “I want this closeness,” She managed, feeling the texture of Nette’s skin and her warmth as she tilted her cheek into Hildegarde’s touch, eyes watery but unwavering as they watched Hildegarde’s face. “I want this gentleness and tenderness, and I want that with you, I can’t describe how much I want to be close with you. I don’t know how to label all this, I have no clue, not a single iota or thought or glimmer of comprehension. The thought of a more physical relationship, even kissing, it terrifies me. But I want to be close with you.”

She had to stop, screwing her eyes shut to hold back tears to mirror Nette’s. It was all too much, she didn’t know how to cope with any of this, it was too much to cope with all at once…

Nette’s hand came up to her cheek, folding over Hildegarde’s fingers. Her lips gently brushed Hildegarde’s fingers and held them to her lips as her tears began to dry.

“We can still have that, we can have this,” Nette said, kissing her fingers again gently. “I want that too. Me and Tendo have a relationship like that.”

“You do? I thought…”

“We have a polyamorous asexual relationship,” Nette smiled, her lips brushing Hildegarde’s skin as she spoke. “He’s in a romantic and sexual relationship with Alison, and a romantic relationship with me. All parties know what’s going on. Does that sound like something we could have?”

“I don’t understand.” Hildegarde admitted.

“I have a lot of love to give,” Nette said, her cheeks flushing again though her eyes were dry. “And a lot of love for more than just one person. That includes you.”

“I don’t know,” Hildegarde replied, her head spinning. “All I know is I want this, with you.” She traced her fingers over a small spiral tattoo on Nette’s hand, marveling at the intricacy of the design and the quiet joy of being able to touch her like this, to express how she felt when words failed, and the affection and surety in each little point of contact, deliberate and reassuring.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nette smiled, kissing Hildegarde’s hand and holding it to her cheek. “No pressure, no demands. We’ll work out what this all means.”

Hildegarde nodded, her tears easing and a precious, delicate hope expanding like a bubble in her chest. It was going to be alright. She might not know what was going on with concrete certainty, but there was plenty of time to find out. It was going to be alright.

“Yes,” Hildegarde smiled, tentatively stroking Nette’s cheek. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT MARCH 2015 - Hey everyone, sorry for the lack of update recently. Basically my semester was really heating up towards the end and Christmas and January exams and more uni things... And at the minute, I'm in my last semester of my undergrad, so my timetable is ridiculous and the time I used before for writing has had to be reused to write up my dissertation. Don't worry, this isn't a permanent hiatus :) For the minute I just need to focus on finishing this semester as well as I can. Hopefully the hiatus will be over around June? Possibly with a double update? Who knows. Thanks for your patience, hopefully see you in June. In the meantime feel free to hit me up on my tumblr.


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